


Twisted Paths Part Two: Every Time a Bell Rings

by SDAWND



Series: Blue Bliss [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cussing, F/M, More Sex, Sex, a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDAWND/pseuds/SDAWND
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a continuation of Blue Bliss. It throws you further down the Winchester rabbit hole so you can experience even more tantalizing fun with Supernatural characters. Part Two focuses on the fallout of a weekend with Crowley and your growing desire to get closer to a timid and confusing Angel of the Lord. Apparently you have to go through Hell to get to Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I finally have a beta! LaFemmeGeekita  
Woot! She's been a huge help and gives me a boatload of encouragement,  
but I'm still gonna claim all errors as my own.

 **Author's Note:**  
Man! That whole thing with Crowley blew up in our faces didn't it? I'm sorry to say that Chapter One is going to be smutless, but come on, did you really think you could jump right into smutville after It's Good to be the King Chapter Eight? I hope it's not too painful, but there should be a payoff in the coming chapters... at least... if this story remains on course and continues to blow my mind like it does yours, then payoff is inevitable.  
Ok, I'll stop rambling and let you get into it.

 

 

**PREFACE**

The Winchesters saved your bacon a lifetime ago; or at least it seems that long, when in reality it’s only been a couple of months. Strange how time can stretch and condense so easily and without anyone’s permission. You savor those days of being tucked away from the world and all its complications; the bunker walls a comforting solidity and the warmth of Sam and Dean Winchester an ever-present bliss. The terror of demons hunting you, and the almost cataclysmic spell that put you in very real and terrifying danger has faded to a dull nightmare, because you’ve kept your focus on happier things, like those two incredibly sexy brothers. When it was all over and done with, saying goodbye to Sam and Dean was one of the most painful things you’ve ever experienced; but now that they’re back in your life, you don’t want to imagine a day without them a call or text away. You savor every moment you have with those two and you don’t know what you’d do without them.

Aside from those two insanely handsome, rough and tumble human beings, you’ve been graced with the affections of some otherworldly creatures as well. Creatures you didn’t know existed until that fateful encounter in a dim back alley months ago, and you never once thought you would find yourself smitten with a being from the depths of Hades. Most girls don’t make it a life goal to fall in love with the demon King of Hell, but when it happens, it’s kind of a big deal. It’s one hell of a complication to add on top of what you’ve already built and established with Sam and Dean Winchester and when you toss in the timid affections of an Angel of the Lord, well…. Crazy is kind of a mild descriptor, but that’s what you use to describe it anyways.

The last thing you remember is absolute and unadulterated agony, mixed with a heavy dose of uncomfortable emotions you hope you never experience ever again in any lifetime. You had hoped to keep your affections for Crowley a secret, but everything kind of blew up in your face when Castiel ripped you from the mountaintop where the King of Hell had you tucked away for the weekend. You have no idea why your body practically imploded on itself and you have no idea how to fix things with the Winchesters. You wish you could rewind time and make it all go away, you just want it to disappear and never rear it’s ugly head ever again… but no one’s that lucky.

 

 

TWISTED PATHS PART TWO

EVERY TIME A BELL RINGS

CHAPTER ONE

<<< >>>

You’re not dead, but you kinda wish you were. Your body is a cacophony of multi-flavored pain, setting off little starbursts behind your closed eyes as you swim towards consciousness. Ugh. Is this what it feels like to be hit by a Mac truck, then backed over by that same truck, before it bumps over you again on it’s way to fleeing the scene? Nah, this is worse. You try and take a deep breath, but you’re greeted with a hot stabbing blade of pain in your chest. You want to sob, but that would probably hurt worse, so you settle for a pathetic little whimper as you crack your eyes to make sure there really isn’t a knife sticking out of your ribcage. There isn’t, the plaid shirt covering your chest is whole and intact, but that doesn’t make the pain any less potent and you close your eyes again as you clench your fists, trying to relax the rest of your body so that your breathing will remain shallow.

“Please be still.” That voice; stiff baritone gravel, so familiar yet so unexpected. Castiel. He leans in, the proximity of his body warming your left arm. At that same moment you realize your left hand isn’t clenching in on itself, there’s something in the way; warm fingers that don’t belong to you are being crushed in your grip and the person who owns that hand doesn’t seem to care. Your head turns toward the inviting heat of the angel and your eyes crack open once more. Lips, large, soft, supple, delicious looking lips are an inch away. They look so inviting and your drawn to them by an unseen thread that’s pulling you upward to taste them. Without consciously deciding to do it, your body tenses to make the move and you immediately regret it because you whimper again, your nerves blazing to life in protest.

Castiel huffs out a little burst of air and the pillow behind your head shifts while he tucks it under you just a bit more so that your head is inclined without having to use any protesting muscles. Those magnificent lips disappear from view, untouched; then they’re replaced by a set of eyes etched with stern concern. “I said, please be still.” Dear lord in heaven those eyes! Deep pools of crystalline azure, so haunting, and so beautiful. You stare into them and your soul is suddenly laid bare; your depths nailed on the gallery wall like a painting for those eyes to study, to see, to judge. You become lost in the moment; lost in the feel of Castiel sweeping those sapphire orbs across your very essence. Then the angel drops his gaze, pulling away from your right hand, which somehow made it across your body and tucked itself gently against his cheek. Warm tingles fade into aching discomfort when he sits back in his seat, out of reach, and your hand drops heavily back by your side.

Castiel’s heavenly lips are pulled into thin lines of disapproval and you immediately realize it’s because you moved again. Your gaze drops in shame, because you didn’t mean to disobey, and you catch sight of the hand you’re holding onto. It belongs to Castiel. The fingers of his right hand are laced with your left and when your eyes run up his arm to see the rest of him, you realize he must have been sitting at an angle, facing the door, before you woke up. You look around and realize you’re still in the bunker; your own room to be precise, and it’s just you and the angel. Your eyes wander back to him, and he’s wearing the exact same thing he wears every other time you’ve seen him. Navy blue dress pants, the same color jacket over a white button down shirt, blue tie, and that long tan trench coat forever rests on his shoulders. You whisper out a sheepish sorry while squeezing his hand, not wanting him to be mad at you for not following his instructions. “Don’t be sorry…” His words are a sigh, his tone soft and sad. “I should be the one apologizing.” He sounds dejected and your face is puzzled when you quietly ask why.

“I should not have left you in this condition.” What… oh. Oh yeah… oh no… OH GOD! Your eyes widen as reality comes rushing back in, excruciating memories of Dean’s violent outburst and Sam’s terrifying silence making your heart clench, adding to the fiery pain that’s already there. Outwardly you wince while inside you’re screaming, because oh good god that really happened didn’t it? Castiel really did whisk you away to the bunker. Damn it! Why did he do that? Why did he leave you to face the brother’s confused anger? The sight of you out of context and with no prior knowledge or warning was a recipe for disaster. Jesus that was bad! So fucking beyond bad, and now you have to pick up the pieces because of the angel who’s holding your hand… who’s apologizing… who’s… he… you sigh in defeat, wincing in pain again because you forgot that more than a shallow breath stabs deep and sharp.

You lay there silently for a moment, letting him stare at you while you wrestle with your emotions. You want nothing more than to be ragingly angry with Castiel. You have every fucking right to be furious with him for not listening to you or giving you a chance to explain, and you’re hand clenches his with unwarranted strength; all it does is make you flinch instead of him. But as you look at him, those deep blue eyes looking back with apologetic remorse, you just can’t; you can’t be mad. He looks like a lost puppy and you cannot for the life of you, bring yourself to be pissed off. You sigh again, more shallow this time, and your grip loosens on his hand. You open your mouth to tell him it’s ok, you’re not mad, but then it hits you; he wasn’t apologizing for dropping you in this quagmire. He’s sorry that he left... and he left to find Crowley!

Terror instantly clutches at your soul, intense and suffocating. Oh no! Castiel is back, he’s here; does that mean he… did he… is Crowley…? Your grip tightens again, this time in fear instead of anger. A tear you didn’t know was there, spills down your face without permission while you strain to hold back sobs that want nothing more than to rip through your already pain addled body. You can’t ask that question out loud, fearing that any utterance of those words will make them come true, but your thoughts are screaming; bellowing the question from a mountain top, loud and insistent, and you know he can hear you. Castiel’s face softens, his shame replaced with concern, like he’s comforting a small child as he leans forward, “No.” Cas wipes the stray tear from your cheek with his free hand. “I didn’t kill Crowley.” That should make you feel so much better, but it doesn’t. You trust Cas, he is an angel after all, but you still want to feel it; you still have to be sure.

The angel’s fingers linger on your cheek, warm and nice against your skin while you close your eyes and search your mind, diving deep to find the mental thread belonging to the demon King. It’s faint, his distance pulling the connection thin, but you feel the devil. You feel Crowley far away but alive on the other end of the thread, and you stare at it within your mind, looking but not touching because you’re content just knowing it’s there. You open your eyes and it feels like an angry fist just let go of your heart as you rake in a relieved breath, only to have it expelled as an aching moan when another hot stab pierces your chest. Castiel’s hand quickly pulls away from your face again, the lovely warm tingles disappearing with it, and his body language suddenly screams regret. “I also must apologize for your pain.” You look up at him while steadying your breaths once more and you immediately realize why he’s sorry.

Castiel is an angel of the Lord, capable of miracles, and here you are, lying on a bed in mind-bending agony and he hasn’t healed you; not even a little bit, from the way you feel. Why? “I’m sorry…” His features are etched with sympathetic pain and his eyes hold self-imposed guilt. “But I… I needed you to see.” You’re confused. See what? “You need to feel this.” Feel what? Feel this agonizing torment? Why? Why would he want you to hurt like this? You know your face has injured confusion written all over it because you never once thought an angel would want you to feel pain.

Castiel hesitates, “I needed you to…. you _need_ to feel what that monster…” Cas stops. His grip tightens on your hand, sudden determination narrowing his brow into angry lines, and his words quietly turn a deeper rumble of gravel as he continues. “You need to know what that _abomination_ did to you.” Your eyes widen because there is so much passion behind those words; a testament to how much he believes Crowley purposefully hurt you. “I needed you to _know_ so….” He pauses again, apprehension overtaking his fervor once more, “So that you will be more careful in the future.” His voice is timid now, laced with concern. Careful? He wants you to be more careful… careful because he thinks Crowley did this to you on purpose. Swiveling your head so that you're staring at the ceiling, you don’t comment, suddenly lost in thought. You take a moment to process that statement, comparing it to the misery that’s throbbing throughout your body.

Was it on purpose? Crowley lov… he… you sigh, a shallow breath so that you don’t hurt yourself again. Maybe Crowley does have feelings for you, BUT, he is a demon… and it doesn’t matter if he did it on purpose, because you took in the sight of every mark and savored it with pride, reveling in the glory of each one that your monster gave you. You knew you were playing with FIRE but… but it never once hurt when you were with him. It never felt like this. Everything was a pleasurable torment, an undulating teasing heat of lust-filled desire and ultimate bliss. You turn over each moment in your mind, and each pain you catalog matches up to a moment you had with your monster, but he was never that rough, never. Was he?

You’re not sure anymore, because you’re beginning to see it. Just like the burnt out stubs of candle melted into the carpet on the morning after, your body is used up, burnt out and paying the price for what you did; all of it. The invisible ropes of power binding you like vices to the dining room chair until you violently pulled free and took charge of the moment. Dangling by your throat, suspended in his heated grip while he made you shiver and moan. The moment you injured Crowley’s pride and he tossed you against the window as easily as throwing a paper airplane. In hindsight those actions seem so much more violent than when you were in the moment, but they didn’t hurt. They didn’t! So why are you in pain now?

You can’t answer that. You don’t know. All you do know is that there is no way you can live without ever seeing Crowley again; it would kill you. The angel wants you to be ‘careful’, but there is no such thing as careful when it comes to the Demon King of Hell. He’s an all-in kind of game and you can’t take it back, and you can’t keep yourself from wanting to play again. Castiel says be careful. It’s a thinly veiled request for you to stay away from Crowley, but he of all people should understand why you won’t. He should know that the threads that bind you to these four monumentally different beings are so much stronger than anything you could ever hope to conquer. Maybe he does know, and he just doesn’t care. Doesn’t care because you’ve been defiled by a demon; torn, ripped, ridden, and used up, and he doesn’t like it.

Which would mean that Castiel really does care, actually he probably cares a lot. Your mind is seesawing, trying to make sense of things; then you realize he cares so much that he didn’t kill Crowley, even though refraining from that action probably went against every fiber of his existence. He cared enough that he thought he was saving you, protecting you. Oh Castiel, you beautiful, ridiculous doof. You wish you could obey that request; you wish you could stay away from your monster so that Castiel would rest assured that you’re safe, but you can’t. There is no way of staying away from Crowley, just like there is no way you can live without Sam Winchester, or Dean Winchester, or… or the angel who’s currently holding your hand and breaking your heart. These four men have laid claim to you, each one equally owning their very own piece of you, and there is nothing you can do about it. There is no way to unlove them, no way to bury the feelings or sever the thread because you would be destroying a piece of yourself, and you’re not sure if you’re strong enough to survive that.

Even now your heart is screaming because Sam’s thread is little more than a gossamer wisp, Dean’s connection is throbbing with uncertainty, Crowley’s pulsing heat is distant, his fate unknown, and Castiel’s is… his thread lays untouched, alien, and almost frightening. Everything is wrong, this is all wrong and you need to fix it, but leaving any one of them out of the equation is not an option. You need him to see this, to know this, just like he needed you to feel the pain your demon King left you with. He has to know, so you choke back more tears as you squeeze the angel’s hand, and you pluck at the pulsing blue thread in your mind. It feels so strange compared to the other three; it’s surreal as wisps of emotion puff past your minds eye like billowing clouds and there is a faint ringing, high pitched and almost out of your range of hearing. You focus on pouring your feelings into the connection and Castiel accepts willingly, like his arms are open to catch it all, to catch all of you.

Sobs begin to burst pain throughout your body, but you don’t care because the emotions you’re releasing are far more painful than any physical ailment. Castiel is so inviting, a silent offer given to lay your burdens out. You accept, almost hungrily, all of your regret, guilt, and anger flooding outward. Your apprehension, your terror at the thought of losing any one of them, your rage towards the brothers for not understanding how much bigger this whole thing is than any one of you, your regret that Castiel can’t magically undo all the damage he’s unwittingly caused, and your guilt for not telling them about Crowley from the beginning; they all wash into the deep blue depths of Castiel. The warm pulse of his connection enfolds you, cradles you, soothing your soul as all that negativity drains away, leaving you wonderfully, quietly, empty and hollow. It feels so lovely.

Suddenly a hot burst of pain cuts through your mind, pulling you back to reality. Frustrated tears are flowing down your cheeks, running into Castiel’s hair where his head is tucked against yours. Cas is hugging you? You didn’t feel him pull you into a sitting position, but now his arms are wrapped around you tight, and it’s making your ribs scream. It hurts, so bad, but you don’t want him to let go. It feels so good to have his arms bound so tightly around you; tingling bursts of joy overriding most of your pain as you sit there sobbing. Cas pulls away enough to lock eyes with you, those blue depths holding so much compassion as his hand moves up to wipe tears from your face. God he’s so close, every inch of personal space pleasantly violated as he holds your head in his hands. “I see now.” You choke back a sob, and yet again the angel apologizes, “I’m sorry.” He understands; and he cares. A tiny part of you glows with warmth at that revelation, filling up the emptiness left by all those negative emotions.

Castiel leans in closer, those beautiful lips now so very near to yours, and your body pulses with sudden lustful heat. His hands rest on either side of your head, gentle yet commanding; telling you to remain still. “Close your eyes.” A quiet gravely whisper that ghosts warm breath against your mouth. You obey, your heart hitching its rhythm because of his extreme proximity. Castiel smells sweet, like sunshine and sugar, and you wait for the feel of those beautiful lips to press forward to meet yours. You know he wants to kiss you, you can feel his desire snaking along the connection, but he doesn’t do it. Instead you feel him shift upward while tilting your head down, and he presses them warm and heavy to your forehead. Dazzling heat radiates from the point of contact and it feels like sunlight against your skin, under your skin, inside you deep and illuminating, driving away any remaining darkness. It feels like heaven. Your body floats in nirvana, relieved of the burdens of broken bones, mangled muscles, and marred skin; you whisper out Castiel’s name in a reverent thank you.

The angel’s lips linger on your skin longer than necessary as his name hangs in the air; then they skim down the bridge of your nose and stop, hovering barely an inch away from your mouth. You don’t move, finally obeying Castiel’s request, because you don’t want to be anywhere else but here with him invading your space. The moment stretches. He wants to, so badly; but he’s hesitating, uncertain of so many unnamable things. You wait while he continues to hold your head in his hands, breathing each other’s air while he fights a battle within himself. Your body is completely healed, better than before, and it shivers with anticipation, basking in the closeness and wanting nothing more than for him to do it. Sweet lord you want him to kiss you! Please. Silently, timidly, you convey the sentiment that it’s ok, telling Castiel please, please do it. His thumbs ghost across your cheekbones as he continues to hover a breath away, your body flushing hot at the tingling trail it leaves.

You sense it across the thread before you feel Castiel’s grip tighten ever so slightly; it’s barely noticeable, but it tells you that’s its coming. Your core tightens with anticipation. The thought that he’s going to kiss you ignites a carnal hunger; but you wait, oh so patiently you wait, and then he moves in. Castiel is so ginger, like a timid animal nosing at your palm when his lips brush across yours. Electric tingles erupt throughout your entire body, filling you with warm light. It feels so good, so pure. You pull him in closer; you can’t help it. You want to feel more of him, to open him up and soar up into the heights of heaven; but he’s unyielding. Cas’s lips massage yours in chained chastity, his sheepishness in full bloom. You don’t push for more, playing it gentle, afraid that taking what you really want will frighten him away.

Castiel’s frame melts against you as he presses in closer; his right hand moving down to cup your face, his trembling fingers tender and soft against the line of your jaw while his other hand threads into your hair. You could feel this forever and still want more, but you continue to hold back, savoring the slow gentle play of his mouth against yours. Like your caught in a slow motion movie, Cas moves so tenderly, languid and delicate; then his head tilts, his lips parting just enough to capture your top lip in a gentle nibble and sparks ignite across every nerve ending. Your mouth parts in invitation; wanting him to take more of you, claim it all Castiel, it’s yours. He nibbles again, suckling your tender flesh with reverent attention, and when Castiel’s tongue presses hot against your lip, a blissful moan quietly escapes.

The angel suddenly stops without warning, the mood immediately changing as he pulls away to leave you cold and breathless. He moves out of reach, leaving you sitting on the bed in confusion while he stands several paces back, shoulders slumped, head bowed, his fists clenched by his side. “I…” His voice is husky, laced with the desire he’s trying so hard to restrain. “I have to go.” He looks up and those sapphire eyes lock with yours. There are so many conflicting emotions dancing behind their depths; hunger, guilt, confusion, and apprehension are prominent and it hurts to look, but you don’t turn away, you could never turn away from him. He breaks the moment, dropping his gaze to the floor and you’re finally able to find your voice, whispering softly, please don’t go.

No sooner is that sentence out of your mouth, than Dean comes walking into the room. Startled, you and the angel shift your attention towards the door where he stands, and Dean’s eyes move from you to Cas. A note of confusion plays across his face as he senses the tension in the room. You turn back to Castiel but your quiet pleading dies on your lips because he isn’t there. He’s already gone, wind whispering through those invisible wings before you’re eyes can find him one more time. “Cas?” Dean sounds worried as you both stare at the empty space for a moment, then he shakes his head, turning all of his attention on you. “What’s up with him?” You honestly aren’t sure, which is what you tell Dean in a distant voice while your fingers gently run along your upper lip in lament.

 

<<<>>>

Dean continues to stare at you for a moment and then he shrugs before heading over and offering you a hand. “Well you’re looking a million times better girlie.” You grab the offered hand, swinging your legs off the bed and onto the floor, but then you stop. Dean seems strangely ok considering how things were left before you passed out from pain. You look up at him, your hand still resting in his, and his expression quickly turns to concern, making you wonder what kind of look is on your face. You know that your eyes are brimming with tears because there are way to many emotions swirling around in your head right now. Castiel is so confusing, Crowley is so confusing… all of this is so confusing; so all that confusion starts to spill out hot and salty down your cheeks while you stare up at the man who’s looking right back at you. Your head dips in shame, hiding your face from view while your grip tightens around Dean’s hand, which is still firmly holding yours.

“Woah, woah.” Dean quickly grabs your other hand and tugs on both, demanding that you get up. You follow his pull, standing up straight, but you don’t move any closer. Dean tries to catch your eye again, stepping in close and craning his head, trying to enter your field of vision. You resist by keeping your head down, wishing your hair could cover more of your face as you look away from the man who’s gently holding your hands and pleasantly invading your space. “Hey.” Dean’s voice is laced with gentle concern as he sets your palms on his shoulders so he can run his fingers firmly down your arms in a comforting sweep. Why is he being so nice? He should be so pissed off at you. Dean’s voice is a little more pointed this time when he says “Hey”, and his fingers grip your chin, tugging at you to look at him. You obey, sniffling before you allow your head to swivel, and you still won’t bring your eyes up further than his belt buckle. “Come on.” It’s almost a playful whine as he tilts his head lower; you look down even more, wiping your face on the sleeve of the borrowed button up shirt you’re wearing. You just want him to give up and go away so you can wallow in misery without interruption.

“Damn it.” It’s a frustrated growl from Dean as he grabs your head with both hands and he tucks up into your space from below. He presses his lips against yours hard and needy, polar opposite of what you just experienced with Castiel, and you stiffen in surprise. His thoughts ring loudly over the thread between you; you won’t look, so he’ll make you pay attention a different way. His need for you to understand is seeping into your mind while he pries your mouth open, a desperate claim of territory as his tongue dips deep. He gets what he wants; he has your full and undivided attention, your body reacting with a pleasured shiver while your mind screams, why are you kissing me?

You lied to Dean, kept things from him, and hasn’t the King of Hell defiled you? So why would he ever want to kiss you again? You can’t keep those thoughts from rolling across the connection and you whimper against his lips while his tongue glides along your teeth. You kiss him back, you doubt you could ever not kiss him back, but you’re just waiting for him to break away so he can shun you, judge you, and say this kiss is your last. It finally happens, Dean breaks away form the kiss, leaving you both spit lick and breathless. Your eyes drop downward again, waiting for the rejection that will follow. “Damn it woman!” He’s still holding your head; silently begging you to look at him, “Don’t you understand?” No, you don’t; but reluctantly, slowly, you pry your gaze from those angelic lips and timidly make eye contact. Christ! The man holding you is so fucking gorgeous; those green eyes are locked on you and his handsome features are etched with emotion, and you don’t understand, so you hold your breath. “I get it ok?” What? “I get it, I really do, and I don’t blame you one damn bit.” Wait? He understands? Your breath comes out in a little gasp as your eyes widen and hope flutters to life inside you; but it’s small and wary, untrustworthy of how this could possibly be what he’s thinking.

Dean keeps going, his voice laced with gentle depth. “You were scared ok; I get it. Afraid we’d think less of you for wanting him, right? Afraid we wouldn’t be happy when we found out? And scared that we’d kill that bastard as soon as we knew?” You sniffle again, nodding in agreement while Dean’s hands still grip your head. His voice flattens just a little, the slightest edge sharpening his words. “You were right, we sure as hell weren’t very happy about it.” You tense; then his words soften again. "And I’m sorry, but that’s just how that one was gonna go, ok. But…”

His words are smothering your hope and your eyes begin to dip downward again, but Dean’s grip tightens, his eyes begging you not too. It’s painful, like your soul is exposed for those emerald orbs to dissect and judge; but you do what Dean wants, you stare right into those jade pools and you don’t look down. He pauses, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and when he speaks, its low, heartfelt, a confession. “But… I will NEVER think less of you. Ever.” He means it with all of his heart; the connection openly flowing, and those deep green eyes filled with forgiveness makes that fact crystal clear. Everything around you disappears; the only thing in existence is the man holding you with gentle intensity. The moment is broken when Dean huffs out a little laugh, like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever had to say to someone because it should be so obvious; then he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against yours for a moment. “Ok?”

Your voice is barely a whisper in return, quietly echoing his ok… and it is; it’s ok. Dean’s ok. You’re ok. It’s all ok. Your tension melts and a smile is threatening to cross your face; but Dean keeps going, his voice lowered with bottled emotion, and any hint of a grin evaporates. “Now don’t get me wrong girl… I want to kill that son of bitch so bad I can taste it.” Your heart clenches, your whole body wincing at that statement. “I want to unmake that little shit, wipe him from existence for what he did to you.” Dean’s forehead is still pressed against yours and his grip is tense as he pours angry passion into each syllable. “He hurt you. He fucking HURT you, and I want him to pay for it.” Tears pour down your face, sudden and uncontrollable because this isn’t right. Dean is wrong, so wrong. Crowley may be a demon, but he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve the hate; he doesn’t deserve to die because it’s not his fault. He may have set things up so you could be together, but deep down, it’s because it was beyond his control; it was inevitable, unavoidable. Please don’t Dean; please don’t kill Crowley.

“But…” Dean pulls away, his hands still cradling your tear-streaked face as he locks eyes with you again, “I won’t do it.” His thumbs run along your cheekbones again as his eyes bore into you, and hope suddenly sparks anew. “I won’t kill him,” You feel the glimmer of hope rolling across the thread as Dean keeps talking, “Because as much as I want to, as much as I hate that motherfucker right now, as much as I don’t like ANY of this… it would be the same as hurting you.” Dean lets out a defeated sigh, “So I won’t.” He won’t? He won’t kill him. It’s more than you could ever hope for and a smile almost tugs at your lips out of overwhelming relief. You want to hug him right now, but Dean’s hands have turned gentle, and you stay still as he continues to hold your attention, “Now.” His face turns stern, but his tone has turned lighter, less intense, “Don’t be surprised if you find me beating him to within an inch of his life ok?” A hint of a smile plays at his lips even though he’s being serious, and then it turns to intense concern, “Because Jesus! Do you realize how hurt you were?”

You flinch, because you know how bad it must have looked, but Dean loosens up, tender again as his fingers card through your hair. You lean into it before his hands slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders where he gently kneads your flesh. “Cas said you had a couple of broken ribs and some of those bruises went deep, like to the bone kind of deep. Can you please tell me what in the hell Crowley did to cause those kinds of injuries?” The hope that was blossoming in you suddenly dies back down to a cold terror, because no, you don’t want to tell Dean why. He must sense your fear because he catches your eyes again before saying, “Hey. I said I wouldn’t kill him and I mean that, but I want to know. Ok?” You swallow thickly, taking a deep breath to stall for time, and then you quietly whisper, almost inaudible, that Crowley likes to play rough. Dean’s eyes go flat, his hands turning rigid against your skin, and you know that even if he was expecting that, asking for that, he still wasn’t ready to hear it. You stumble on your words as you rush to tell him that none of it hurt, you were never in pain, except the time he bit your lip, but otherwise, no, because he never meant to hurt you.

Dean’s look shifts to startled disbelief, “What do you mean it didn’t hurt?” You reiterate that you didn’t feel any pain until Castiel dumped you here at the bunker, that you had no idea that you even had broken bones, and you were fine until it all came crashing in at once. Dean’s eyes shift back and forth, his mind sorting that information into categories before he finally looks back up at you. “So he ruffied you, right?” No! No he didn’t slip you a mickey, your voice is incredulous when you tell Dean he’s wrong. “Then what? A spell maybe?” You shake your head no again, this time less sure. You remember the feel of Crowley’s warm red power, the way it consumed you, lapped at your skin, heated your soul; you don’t know much about magic but you’re pretty sure that was something else entirely, so no, it wasn’t magic… but that raises the question… was his power what did it? Maybe.

You ponder the thought for a moment, before deciding that saying it out loud would be difficult to explain, confusing for Dean, and uncomfortable for everyone when it comes to the intimate parts of Crowley’s abilities. You’re still not sure, so you’re not lying when you tell Dean that you don’t know what did it. He stands there pondering for a minute, and then his hands slide from your shoulders as he steps back with a sigh. “Damn it! Why did Cas leave? I bet he knows.” You’re suddenly grateful that the angel isn’t here; if your hunch is right, then Castiel probably wouldn’t be gentle about explaining things. Of course, you do want Cas to explain things to you, you still don’t understand most of what happened, but not in front of Dean, not like this. Your face is creased with worried thought when you tell Dean that you don’t know why Cas left, and the edge of concern in your voice catches his attention.

“Hey don’t worry, I’ll stop with the twenty questions now. You’ve been through enough, you don’t need me screwing things up even more.” Finally you smile and it almost hurts, because it feels like you’ve forgotten how until now. You tell him he isn’t screwing anything up; he’s being amazing about all this and you really can’t thank him enough. Dean looks up at you, catching sight of your smile, and his face brightens with a grin. His hand tucks up under your hair, warm pressure at the nape of your neck, and Dean pulls you in close, “I’m just glad you’re ok.” He kisses you soundly on the lips, tilting his head so he can dip his tongue gently into your depths, and then he pulls away. His hand trails down your arm and his fingers wrap warmly around yours; then he tugs at you, pulling you towards the door. “Come on.” You don’t resist. “I’ve been worried about you for three days. It’s not nice to keep a guy on edge like that.” WHAT? You follow him out of the room in disbelief. Three days! You’ve been unconscious for three days! “Sucks when you lose time, doesn’t it? I hate it when that happens, it always pisses me off.”

You’re not pissed about it… wait a minute… yes you are. You’re mad because you suddenly start wondering about the normal side of your life, the part where you’ve been trying to function as a regular citizen of this country, with a life that isn’t mired in strange supernatural phenomenon and four crazy sexy men. Great. Just great. You let out a frustrated breath before ranting in an aggravated voice while Dean continues to tug you along the hallway. Three days? Three frickin days! That’s just fantastic. Why would you ever think you could have a normal job, normal place, a normal life… or anything normal for that matter? Dean stops, turning to face you while your aggravation keeps rolling. Damn it! You might was well move into this flippin’ place, because it’s just a matter of time before normal life stops tolerating your disappearances. Why even bother trying to be normal?

You should be ashamed of your melodrama, but there is just to much shit going on to care right now, and Dean just stands there listening to you with a wistful look on his face. When it seems like your done, he raises his eyebrows and asks, “Well?” Your eyebrows go up too, and you try to level off the anger in your voice because you’re not mad at him when you ask, well what? Dean chuckles, “Well… why don’t you just move in here?” Wait, what? …WHAT? … what did he just say? Your mind goes full stop, not really understanding what just came out of Dean’s piehole. Did he… did he just invite you to live with them? Just like that? Dean keeps on smiling while you stand there looking stupid, because you certainly weren’t expecting that, not even a little bit.

Dean comes in close, running his palms up and down your arms in soothing sweeps. “You seem to think that’s some sorta crazy,” You open your mouth, and then close it again, still not sure how to respond to that invitation. “But it’s kinda not.” Dean is being very nonchalant about this, and you, well you just need a minute. Your brain sputters back to life and you stutter out a thank you for the offer, but you refrain from saying anything else, stacking it on top of all the other insane things you need to deal with before your emotions can even out to something other than raging storm. Dean shrugs, catching on that he just blew your mind a little too much, “Just a thought. Come on, I’ll make you some breakfast.” You’re grateful for the change in subject, vowing not to complain about normal life again until you can properly think that whole thing through. You go with the change, telling Dean that you’re starving. You ask what time it is because the lack of windows and clocks makes it impossible to tell. “Meh, it’s about four am.” Holy shit, it doesn’t feel like four in the morning! Dean smirks at your surprise before turning to continue on towards the galley, and you follow along, jogging to catch up so you can grab his hand like a smitten schoolgirl. He threads his fingers with yours, not minding one bit.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I finally have a beta! LaFemmeGeekita  
Woot! She's been a huge help and gives me a boatload of encouragement,  
but I'm still gonna claim all errors as my own.

Author's Note:  
Well this is interesting. Dean insisted on stealing the spotlight for this chapter and who am I to argue?  
Don't worry, Cas is coming... hehe see what I did there?  
Seriously though, I promise; in the meantime, things are looking up... hehe I did it again.  
Good lord I'll stop with the innuendos now!  
CARRY ON

 

TWISTED PATHS PART TWO

EVERY TIME A BELL RINGS

CHAPTER TWO

<<< >>>

It’s nice to be in the kitchen with Dean. Normally you’re up there with him, helping to cook whatever culinary delights spring to mind, and the pantry can accommodate, but not this morning. Dean insists that you sit down and rest. He’s being overprotective, and it’s adorable; honestly you don’t mind, because despite the healing warmth of Castiel’s touch, you still feel a bit worn thin. You figure it’s an emotional kind of thin, your mind and heart stressed out with everything that’s been going on, and it always seems to be more exhausting than actual physical exertion. You were allowed to set the table, which makes you feel a little less useless; but after that you sit in your usual spot, with your head propped in one hand.

You take pleasure in watching Dean, idly appreciating all of it because you thought you might not ever see it happen again. You can’t help but think things like that in light of the fact that what happened was pretty much your absolute worst-case scenario. You really thought it would end everything in a very very bad way, but honestly things could be much worse at the moment. You figured the brothers would throw you out on your ass, never speaking to you again, but they didn’t. You have no idea who to thank for the fact that it didn’t turn into the nightmare you thought it could be; so you silently thank the powers that be, needing to show your gratitude to something because you DID NOT want to lose this… Dean. Your eyes follow him as he putters about, humming Metallica while he flips pancakes, and you can’t help but adore the man. You want nothing more than to tuck in behind him, making him melt and moan at your touch, but it just doesn’t feel right at the moment. It’s to soon.

Speaking of too soon, it’s really frickin’ early in the morning. Four am is an ungodly hour, so how is it that Dean is so perky, like a bright eyed and bushy tailed squirrel? Now that you know what time it is, you recognize the strange calm of early morning; that odd sixth sense humans have, setting the mood subconsciously. Dean is a contrast to that, his entire demeanor wound tight and full of pent up energy. You open the thread between you, curiosity winning out over privacy, and Dean’s relief floods over you. He’s just so happy to see you up and about and ok. You smile, it’s a bit lopsided since your hand is still propping up your head, but the urge to interrupt his cooking with a heartfelt hug is overwhelming. You don’t move though, still lacking the confidence to do anything of the sort. Dean may have forgiven you, but you still feel really bad about this whole mess, and if you’re completely honest with yourself, you don’t feel worthy of his affections right now.

As you sit there with your thoughts churning, it’s a comfortable silence, punctuated pleasantly by Dean’s quiet hum. You smile warmly whenever he turns to see if you’re still watching him, and he grins back each time before returning his attention to the pancakes, adding a little flourish because he likes that you’re ogling him. You still can’t believe how ok Dean is with all of this. He was the one who got pissed when he found out that you also belonged to Sam. Hmmmm, maybe that’s why he’s ok. Maybe he learned from that, learned that this crazy strange gift/curse you have is way bigger than any of you, and the only thing to do is roll with the punches. That may be part of it, but you’re pretty sure that’s not the only factor. Whatever the reason, it’s more than you could ever have hoped for. Dean really has been amazing, much more understanding than Sam was.

You stiffen at the thought of Sam, your eyes quickly darting around the room, because you have no idea where that plaid mountain is, and it wouldn’t be good for him to sneak up on you. You haven’t seen him since you woke up, and you’re not sure if he will be happy or upset when he finally does lay eyes on you. Sam seemed so hurt and so pissed about all of it. His silent seething anger was terrifying, reminding you that he really is like a predatory cat, padding about on soft paws that hide an ever-present sharpened violence beneath the surface. He would never hurt you, you’re certain of that, that’s not what scares you; it’s… you aren’t sure what’s setting your nerves on edge, maybe you’re afraid of the conversation you know will eventually happen. Yeah, maybe it’s that.

So where is he? The suspense is killing you, so you finally break the silence, asking Dean where Sam is. He turns and looks at you, this time without a smile, and then he goes back to watching the pan while he tries to play things off as cool with a shrug. “Sammy? Eh, he’s fine.” You tell him that’s good, but where is he? Dean shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other before answering in a forced casual tone. “He um, he just borrowed a page from his big brothers playbook.” That tells you nothing, but you wait patiently for him to continue as he concentrates on piling the last of the pancakes on a plate. You watch as he saunters over to the table, those bowed legs swaggering in that perfect way they always do. “Yeah, he decided he needed to drive fast and get a little violent.” Oh. Your eyes meet, and Dean winks, trying to be funny; but you can see the slightest hint of concern behind the mask of nonchalance he’s wearing. He breaks away from your gaze, and you ask if you should be worried about Sam while Dean unceremoniously plunks the pancakes and bacon on the table. “Nah,” He turns, making a second trip to grab butter and a jug of syrup. “Don’t worry about Sam. He won’t do anything stupid. He just needs to vent a little bit.”

Dean sits down across from you and proceeds to pile his platter high with a five stack of pancakes and a huge slab of butter in between each one. You’d normally be amused by the size of his appetite, but you really are worried about Sam, and you find yourself asking Dean if he’s sure that was a good idea. An unnamable emotion flits across Dean’s face before he schools it back into nonchalance, “Yeah, he’s fine.” His voice is gruff, laced with fake assurance and you’re not convinced; you know Dean isn’t either, but you let it go, not wanting to push the issue. In short, Sam isn’t here and as much as you wouldn’t admit it out loud, it’s a relief. You will talk to Sam, eventually, and you will try to make things right, but you’re glad there will be a little space between you before you make a heartfelt and much needed apology to him; you just hope you can salvage your relationship with that long tall drink of water, and you hope to hell he’s ok out there doing whatever it is he’s doing.

The rest of breakfast is spent talking about lighter things and while the laughter is thin and far between, it’s still pleasant. You help Dean wash the dishes and you keep your hands to yourself, and so does he; but it feels forced, like you’re both afraid to make a move because it’s still to soon. Normally sexual tension is a pleasant sensation, but right now it’s nerve racking because you’re incredibly self-conscious about the whole Crowley thing. After the dishes are put away, Dean tells you that now’s the time to get a shower if you’re going to do it, because he’ll be driving you home soon. As you meander down the hallway, you wonder if Dean is going to call Sam and tell him to get his ass back here before he gets violent with the wrong person or monster. You’d text Sam yourself, and tell him a hundred things right now, except your cell phone is laying on a bed, on top of a mountain, in North Carolina. Yippee.

You brush your teeth in the little bathroom that belongs to you, and then you scoop out some spare clothes from the little dresser that the boys moved into your room. You had asked if they had one handy so you wouldn’t have to cart so much stuff back and forth every time you visited; the very next day Sam hauled the cute little piece of furniture through the door and tucked it against the wall, filling up the one barren corner of the room. You immediately stuffed it with the clothes you brought with you… along with a couple of other pieces pilfered from the boys, and you’re really grateful for it right this minute; because Sam’s oversized flannel and Dean’s sweatpants are functional in the respect that they keep you from nudity, but they are not flattering in any way. They do smell nice, a lovely mixture of both men whenever you move, so you don’t really mind them too much; you just don’t feel terribly pretty in them, so they’ve got to go.

 

<<< >>>

You swing by the laundry room to grab a fresh towel; then you’re stripped down and basking in a steamy shower in no time. You’re lost in thought as the water streams down your body in comforting rivulets. You hope Sam is ok; the thought of some random vamp, werewolf or other thing getting a leg up on him because his head isn’t in the right place scares you so much. Why in the hell did things have to turn out like this? Sigh. Castiel. You’re mind brushes across his thread and you take a deep breath, wishing you could find it in yourself to be mad at the angel for scooping you up and dropping you here like a mortar shell. There were a hundred better ways that could have gone. If he would have listened to you, not jumped to conclusions, not brought you _here_ of all places… why did he do that? Maybe you should ask him the next time he shows his face. As you stand there concentrating on him, your mind still feathering lightly across Cas’s pulsing blue thread, a subtle warmth flows from the connection between you.

As it gently engulfs you, a comforting pleasant heat like a sunbeam through a window, his intentions suddenly become clear. It’s so simple. He was protecting you, because he cares for you. You bow your head, the water trailing hot lines through your hair and down along every curve of your body while you stand there lost in thought. You remember the way he looked at you, those blue eyes aching for forgiveness. The way he apologized over and over again, sorrow punctuating every syllable. The way he held your hand while you lay there broken and unconscious; he must have sat there for so long watching over you, your vigilant guardian. Even his reluctance to heal you speaks volumes. Somehow you just know that every hour you laid there marred and marked was painful for him, every groan of agony from your lips hurt him just as deeply as it did you; yet he waited… because Castiel cares.

And that kiss… mmmm that kiss. The water continues to wash out the world, warmth coming from each droplet as it hits your skin, and it suddenly feels amplified tenfold, almost like it’s the angel’s hands running warm along your flesh. You sway into the feel of it, your fingers brushing along your own lips; mimicking Castiel’s gentle tease, and you suddenly want so badly to feel it again. It was so tender, so reverent… so… loving. With that thought, memories of the warehouse begin to replay in your mind. In that place things were so different, like a dream; but you can still feel the pleasure of Cas’s tongue delving deep, his strong hands touching, roaming, claiming, and his undivided attention focused completely and totally on you. It’s such a contrast to what you just experienced earlier with his timid reluctance, but they’re both mind blowing in their own way.

In the warehouse he wanted you, unrestrained and wanton; damn, what you wouldn’t give to have that Castiel back. It was the first time you’ve ever kissed an angel… the first time you ever kissed Castiel, and it was indescribable. You’ve kissed several times since then; his kiss goodbye in the warehouse a promise of so much more that could be, but has never happened. The two times he’s visited you since then seemed so odd, almost strained; Cas’s awkwardness at full volume during each one. He always seemed liked he wanted something, but never really knew what to ask for. You begin to wonder if an angel of the Lord could possibly be craving more than just a kiss. Hmmm what would that be like?

You can’t decide; your mind keeps switching between unbridled warehouse Cas, and the pent up pensive Cas from earlier. Both versions of him are a delicious tease, your mind wandering down two separate paths of carnal imaginings and each one is equally appealing. One seems so innocent, begging to be taught and broken; the other is the teacher, intense and focused, ready to show you what heaven feels like. You sigh, shutting off the water and toweling off, because you can’t spend all day in the shower dreaming of an angel who isn’t here. If only he hadn’t flown away… although nothing would have happened anyway because of Dean’s timing. Mmmm Dean.

You’re mind slowly shifts gears, intermingling the two, intermittently playing out scenarios of Cas in his many forms, followed by Dean in his single, positively sinful form. You can’t turn off your thoughts as you fix your hair and get dressed. You opt for a flattering pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt you nicked from Dean’s collection, and you can’t help but inhale the scent of the older Winchester as the shirt hugs your body. You’re shamefully worked up now, aching for relief, but it’s still too soon, so why did you do that to yourself? Sigh. You drop the wet towel and the loaner clothes in the laundry room before you go on the hunt for Dean, all the while trying to tamp your desire down to a quiet whimper. You find him in the library; it looks like he just pushed send on a text message, and he looks fucking edible. Good god Dean’s gorgeous; one leg planted firmly on the ground, his other propped on the nearby chair, and one asscheek perched on the edge of the table. When he looks up at you through his eyelashes, barely moving his head as he does… Jesus, you could just melt.

 

You blush, hard, your skin radiating heat while you stare. How can he do that to you? After all this time, you often still feel stupidly nervous around him. This time is worse than most, because your thoughts are so incredibly impure, and you’re trying everything in your power not to think them… because too soon… right? Dean’s spine straightens as he takes you in, his complete attention captured as you stand there at the base of the steps to the library. You’re frozen because despite all your efforts, those dirty, needy, lust filled thoughts flood your mind. Your eyes run from the tip of Dean’s boot on the floor, all the way up that long stretch of jean covered leg, up to the black t-shirt that’s peeking out from his long sleeve red flannel, past that strong jaw, those angelic lips, until they finally come to rest on the emerald irises which are equally taking you in. Your breath catches because there’s so much hunger in those depths, so much need, and you wonder if your eyes are betraying you by mirroring him.

Good god you want him so bad. You test the thread between you, tentatively strumming it with a gentle touch, but you’re left breathless when Dean’s desire pushes the connection wide open, flooding you with his heady need. Fuck it; it’s not too soon. You’re up the steps and in his arms before you even realize that you’ve moved. His propped leg drops to the floor as he scoops you in close and your lips meet in a violent needy clash. His tongue delves deep, exploring you with urgency as your hands thread up through Dean’s short-cropped hair and his roam along your back and down to grip your ass, pulling you in against his bulging crotch. “Jesus girl…” You grind against him, making Dean grunt when the table won’t give behind him. His head tilts, locking your mouths together with a needy hum while you’re less than gentle with removing his long sleeve shirt. “…Missed this.” His sentences are short pants, his eager tongue not willing to stop exploring your depths while you shimmy the fabric from his arms. “Missed you.” You pull away, locking eyes with him; both of you with blown out pupils and spit slick lips. You tell him that you’ve missed him too, and then you haul his t-shirt up and over his head.

He’s sexy when he’s dressed, and mother of god he’s sin incarnate when he’s not. Dean comes in for another kiss but you duck, making him miss, but it solicits a smiling hum from him when you bite his chin before moving down to his bare chest. “I’ve wanted you all morning girl.” Your lips slide along his flesh, his muscles tensing and flexing with each open mouthed kiss you plant, and the moans that purr from his chest are carnal and appreciative. Your core is a molten pool, his confessions churning your depths while his fingers thread up into your hair. You love the taste of Dean Winchester and his grip tightens when your tongue circles his left nipple, and he hisses when you nibble on the other, “I fucking… Nnngh.” He’s coming apart and you’ve barely gotten started; but you aren’t judging because you’re wet, aching, and your whole body is shivering with the need to have more of him. You lick downward, tickling his bellybutton with your tongue while you unbutton his jeans. “Wanted to take you in the shower…” Jesus! His bulge is straining against his zipper, begging to be released. “Wanted to lick your body,” Dean’s words are spilling in quiet whispers from his lips while you work to free his shaft from its cotton prison and you’re barely breathing because each sentence is more salacious than the last. “Wanted to spread you wide and hear you moan.”

Dean needs to shut up or his words alone will make you come, so with a carnal smile, you shove his cock deep into your mouth without any warning. Your lips slide heavily across Dean’s sensitive member and his whole body tenses, “Jesus Christ!” Short bursts of air push past his set jaw as he curls his fingers in your hair, his neck tilting stiffly to watch you swallow him greedily. He’s still leaned against the table, almost sitting, yet not, and your hands are gripping each side of the zippered opening while your lips slide along his pulsing shaft. You take him in as deep as possible, rendering him almost mute other than to hear him quietly whisper your name in awe. He tastes so fucking good. You moan against his skin at the sound of your name, savoring the sound of each syllable as you continue to slide your lips along his pulsing shaft. You work him with fervor, your tongue curving along his length with each hungry gulp until Dean finally shifts, breaking your rhythm and tugging on your hair, “Get up here.” You obey because he was on the cusp, his body quaking and straining; and while it’s always a pleasure to watch him come undone, you don’t want it over that quickly. You smile and lick your lips as your fingers slide up his bare chest, and your body follows, all while Dean watches you with hunger.

One of his hands grabs your ass, tucking you against him tightly while the other is still tangled in your hair, guiding you to his eager mouth. Dean’s tongue slides against yours, his heated breath panting into you with baritone moans. “Wanted to fuck you in the kitchen…” His lips slide along your cheek, wet and warm. “Pour syrup on you.” His teeth graze your ear, “You’d make such a sticky sweet breakfast.” You groan out his name while his hands shift so that one rests on each hip. Dean smiles against your skin and he nudges, prompting you to tilt your head so that he can suck on the tender spot just below your ear, “So fucking delicious.” Dean’s words are mumbled, his lips not willing to relent, while his hands run along the waist of your jeans until they’ve found the button. “Wanted to fuck you when you sent those pictures…” A stab of emotion jolts your body, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice, his mouth still claiming territory on your neck while his fingers work on your zipper.

Crowley crawls through your mind for a moment, dark and hot and salacious. Mmmm that sexy fucking demon; but then the King disappears from thought, just a quickly as he arrived when Dean tugs your jeans down far enough so he can cup your cloth covered sex. “I meant every word of those texts I sent.” Your only response is a groan, because his finger runs a line across your wet heat front to back, and then back to front; a lovely torture as his jaw scrapes up your cheek and his lips find yours again. “Do you remember?” Oh god yes you remember, and you whisper out a yes, reverent and lustful between dips of his tongue. He purrs against your lips, “Mmmm it sounds so good when you moan,” Your fingers flex against his scalp as you buck your sex against his teasing hand, eager to feel so much more. “But…” He moves quickly, both hands suddenly gripping your hips as he spins you both around in a whirl. Now your ass is pressed against the library table and Dean nibbles your lower lip with a lecherous smile, “I wanna hear you scream my name.”

Sweet Jesus you remember that text. _~_ _Then I’d make you scream. You sound so sexy when you scream my name.~_ You have no time to react as Dean rips at your jeans, pulling them down to your knees before scooping you up onto the table. You yelp, both of you laughing while he peels every bit of covering from your lower half. “Come ‘ere.” Dean’s smile melts into lust-filled intensity as he comes back in, his mouth connecting with yours once more, your legs wrapping around him as his cock grinds against your bare sex. He dips you backward, guiding you onto your back. He’s draped on top of you, a delicious pressurized heat, as he nibbles on your lip, and then your chin before moving down. His hands run along your t-shirt, his mouth leaving hot patches of fabric over each nipple, and before you can take another breath, Dean is between your legs, those angelic lips pressing hot and slick against your aching sex. Jesus fucking Christ! It’s your turn to go rigid, panting little moans of pleasure while his skilled tongue dances and plays. You’ve been on the cusp for so long now, teetering on the precipice of bliss; and when his teeth graze your clit, you tumble over the edge, moaning Dean’s name as a climax quakes your body.

Dean moves fast, standing quickly so he can line up to your entrance; your pleasure is still rolling, not allowing you to notice what he’s doing, leaving you surprised when he quietly growls, “I’m gonna…” You rake in a gratifying moan as Dean sheathes deep into your quivering heat without warning, “Make you scream.” His words come out breathless, his whole body stiffening at the feel of full connection. Damn, it never stops feeling good. He only pauses for a moment, needing a second to pull back from the overpowering feel of it. “Goddamnit girl!” He flashes you a crooked smile before his hips shift, penetrating to maximum depth. Your lids flutter shut with a wanton sigh. “Every.” He pulls out and then slides back in. “Single.” Out, then in. “Time.” He thrusts again, “So fucking good,” his words turn to lust filled mumbles, and you whimper as his hands grip your hips so he can pick up the rhythm. Out and in. Out and in. Out and in. Nnnngh Dean feels so fucking amazing, his cock filling you up with each commanding thrust.

Your eyes open to find Dean watching you while he pushes into you over and over again. You nibble your lip while running your hands down your shirt covered chest, cupping your own breasts while he stares with lust glazed eyes. Dean looks so fucking gorgeous between your thighs, his torso undulating with each thrust, your legs resting against his powerful arms while his hands continue to tug on your hips, pulling you into each heated stab of your core. The sight of Dean Winchester powering into you with demanding appetite is all it takes for you to cry out his name in a keening whine as another climax rolls through your body in a quaking torrent of carnal bliss. “Yeah baby.” He thrusts harder, each heavy pierce bursting fresh waves of delight through every nerve ending. “I know you like it.” Dean keeps going, his cock a relentless stabbing rapture, “You feel so good.”

He starts to babble, working through the gratifying feel of you clenching against his shaft with each invasion, and then you gasp as he pulls out, your body suddenly empty and aching for his return. “Come ’ere.” He grabs your arms, just above your hands, and he pulls you to a sitting position. Dean grabs your shirt, roughly hauling it over your head, and your arms are barely free before he’s yanked your bra off, exposing your breasts. “Mmmmm yes.” Hot wet pressure sends shivers throughout your body as Dean’s tongue laps at one nipple and then the other. He moves up, gently biting your shoulder and then his lips slide up your neck, leaving a wet trail of quivering flesh in its wake. “Taste so good.” Jesus that felt way too amazing and you eagerly open for Dean’s tongue as he licks his way into your mouth.

You feel him pull you to the edge of the table, your pelvis teetering between falling forward or back, and then he lines up. You gasp into his mouth, breaking the kiss so you can wrap yourself around Dean while he shoves upward, burying himself deep inside you. Good fucking god it feels so good! “Mmm want you so bad.” You suckle his neck, groaning as he slams up into you over and over again. Dean’s arms have you pressed firmly against him, the planes of his chest rubbing in torturous bursts against your nipples with each upshot of his hips and the mood suddenly changes, intensifies; and you cling to him desperately, riding the storm of grunting thrusts and having no leverage to do anything else. One of your hands claws at his shoulder blade, clenching and unclenching in time with this rhythm; the other arm is wrapped around his head, curling your fingers into his scalp as you pant against his neck.

“Fucking need you.” Dean is powerful, his muscular body working at full capacity to hold you in place against him, while still moving in a steady pace of thrust, thrust, thrust. He’s grunting in time to each heavy pierce and it’s your turn to babble. Lusty drivel is mumbled against the strained cords of his neck as you teeter on the edge of the table and vaguely you register surprise that it’s not scraping across the floor with each burst of strength from Dean. He’s gone silent, except his groans of exertion as he jackhammers into you, curling his body tight around you like he can’t get close enough or deep enough. He’s panting hot blasts of air onto your neck where his head is firmly pressed and the feel of Dean’s superior strength surrounding you, holding you, shoving into you; it’s an overwhelming ecstasy.

Like a slow fuse you feel another orgasm coming, each upshot inching it closer and closer and Dean feels the change; he knows you’re right there. “I need you.” His words are almost lost against your skin, and you gasp when he starts to move quicker, his power seeming to come from an endless source. “Need you.” Dean’s teeth clamp down on your neck and you feel a hot sting of pain as he bites down; your body jolts with pleasure, making you clench around the cock that’s relentlessly sliding deep inside you. His mouth releases you, his body tensing further, “Love you.” A whisper against your skin that runs shivers from the top of your head to the tips of your toes… and you’re gone. The climax that overtakes you is an aching pulse of resplendent bliss, forcing Dean’s name from your lips in a loud moaning cry that he matches in volume while releasing his unbridled heat into you. You’re lost in the moment, a euphoric high that suspends time; leaving nothing in existence but you and the magnificent man you’re holding on to.

Forever goes by, nothing relevant except the feel of Dean’s hot body against yours, his lips gently moving up your neck, your cheek, until they’ve found your mouth. The kiss is gentle, heartfelt, tender. You kiss back harder, because you need him to know, you need Dean to understand that you love him too. You pour so much emotion into that kiss, your hands cradling his face, your lips massaging his with tender affection, your tongue laying claim to the territory you crave. It’s not enough, so you break away, tilting both your head and his so that your foreheads are pressed together and you’re panting each other’s air. Your fingers thread through his sweat slick hair and in a quiet voice you tell Dean that you love him too. He pulls away, his fingers coming up to mimic your caress while his eyes lock with yours. You could get lost in those emerald pools; they mesmerize you as they read every detail of your face. Seemingly satisfied Dean smiles, then he comes back in to press another warm kiss against your swollen lips before he steps back, letting your feet slide to the floor.

Your ass rests against the table but your legs feel weak, so you cling to Dean’s arms, your fingers digging into his biceps while you steady yourself. “Woah girl, you ok? Too soon?” Your lips curl up into a smile and you huff out a little laugh at Dean’s wording; you tell him no, not too soon at all. “Are you sure? You seem a little weak in the knees.” Dean is smirking now, not asking that question out of concern like he should be. You chuckle again, telling him to shut his mouth. “Nope.” He comes back in, dipping his tongue between your lips with extra flourish, “Not gonna happen.” He steps away with a lopsided grin, grabbing his pants and hiking them up so he can buckle and zip with a chuckle. “You like my mouth to much for me to keep it shut.” You can’t argue with that, you really can’t, and Jesus! Dean looks sexy when he’s freshly fucked.

You take him in again, starting with those brown boots, up those bowed legs that should be trembling with exhaustion, and this time your eyes linger as you take in his shirtless torso. His chest is still heaving slightly, his breath not quite calmed to normal, and his thumbs are hooked in his pockets while he watches you eye fuck him. Those arms are so magnificent, heavy muscle hidden beneath smooth skin, and his shoulders are square and powerful, and as your eyes move up, you realize you’ve left a mark on him. Oops, that hickie isn’t going away any time soon. Your legs feel steady enough to push away from the table and you close the space between you so that you can run your fingers across the mark you’ve left. You smile with pride and Dean looks down at you with a deepening smirk. “Gave you one right back.”

Your fingers pull from his neck and move to your own; trailing along the hot pulsing ache you feel where Dean’s teeth bit down. You give him a salacious little grin while you tell him that was a fair trade; then you heave a sigh and with a flourish of drama, you tell him it’s his fault that you need another shower before you can leave. “Oh sure, that was all me.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm while he moves to pick up your clothes, and his, which are scattered across the floor. All you can do is smile while you snag your jeans from underneath the table. “Come on.” Dean sidles up next to you, and you suddenly feel extremely naked compared to his half clothed self, “Let’s go take a shower.” He leans in, planting a wet kiss on your lips, and then he squeezes your ass, pulling you toward the hallway that leads to the shower. You comply, walking with your arm around Dean’s waist, and his around you far enough to keep a hand planted on your bare ass as you walk. You might eventually get on the road, but you sure as hell aren’t going to complain about the delay.

 


	3. Chapter 3

I finally have a beta! LaFemmeGeekita  
Woot! She's been a huge help and gives me a boatload of encouragement,  
but I'm still gonna claim all errors as my own.

Author's Note:  
Well it finally happened, we finally get to see what Castiel is like.  
I'll say no more, because spoilers.

 

TWISTED PATHS PART TWO

EVERY TIME A BELL RINGS

CHAPTER THREE

<<< >>>

There‘s no telling how long you spend in the shower with Dean, but both of you have prune fingers and feel a bit waterlogged by the time you finally call it quits. The drive back to your home is filled with Dean’s favorite music and a healthy dose of conversation. Dean stops at the Arrowhead Inn for the night, insisting that he just can’t make it all the way to your place without falling asleep. You want to call him out on that bullshit, but you don’t, because normal life is already screwed anyways, so you happily welcome a night alone with the older Winchester. It’s surreal as you sit in the familiar diner, in the same exact booth as last time. It’s a different waitress, but both of you order the same exact food as before out of sheer nostalgia. When dinner is done, Dean wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you along with him to the motel office. He talks the guy into giving you the identical room, number thirteen; his sentimental tendencies warm your heart, making it impossible not to love this beautiful, crazy man even more. Your night is spent much like it was so many weeks ago, the hours wiled away without notice because Dean Winchester wants nothing more than to have every part of you.

You finally make it back home, Dean giving you a long drawn out kiss before you slide out of the Impala; then you wave goodbye as you watch him drive away, the car growling out that familiar comforting sound until it’s out of sight. It takes you a minute to fish out the spare key you keep hidden near the door, and when you walk inside, your place feels incredibly empty and desolate. You close the door behind you with a quiet click, and you sigh because it just doesn’t feel like home anymore. Sure all your stuff is here, but… it feels like you’re only visiting. Odd how a weekend with the King of Hell can change your whole perspective. Of course, it wasn’t just Crowley, it was everything that happened after that as well, Dean being the perfect example. He wants you to move into the bunker with him and Sam; it was definitely surprising when he took your ranting statement seriously, but it suddenly doesn’t seem so ludicrous anymore. Your normal life is pretty much hopeless at this point anyways; it started back in that alley, your whole existence put completely on hold in order to save it, and since then, every time you turn around you’re taking an extra day here or there because you’d rather be with the Winchesters than be “normal”. Sigh… guess it was inevitable.

You roam around aimlessly; taking inventory and checking to make sure things are how you left them. You turn on some music to fill up the unnerving quiet that isn’t as comfortable as it used to be. Once the quiet thump of music drowns out the silence, you head towards the bedroom in search of comfy pants because you’re tired of wearing jeans. Flipping on the light is an automatic motion, your hand knowing exactly where to go without looking. You’re already several steps through the door when your heart leaps into your throat, making you choke out a strangled yelp. Holy shit! You step back so you can lean against the wall, holding your thundering chest while you tell Castiel he just scared the crap out of you, your voice noticeably shaking. The angel is sitting on the edge of your bed, his legs spread wide, one elbow propped on each knee, and his head is bowed, his attention focused on something he’s holding.

Cas doesn’t immediately react to your obvious distress, which is borderline annoying, but it gives you that extra moment to collect yourself and take in your surroundings. Everything looks to be in order, right where you left it, except for the neatly stacked luggage and bags you know weren’t there when you left… and then there’s the angel sitting on your bed. Your eyes drag from the luggage, reluctant to ignore it because you’re incredibly happy to see that it’s not still sitting on a mountaintop far away and never to be seen again, to the angel who’s occupying your room very not so far away. You take a step towards him only to be stopped by the realization of what’s capturing the angel’s attention; it’s Mr. Cuddles. Cas is gingerly holding your little stuffed dragon made of Crowley like it could break if he moved to fast or squeezed it to hard, and you don’t know what to do.

Finally, after what seems like a silent forever, Castiel’s attention shifts; and as the stereo switches to a new song, he raises his head and those deep blue eyes latch onto yours. “Hello.” It’s the most intense hello you’ve ever heard in your life, and you breathe out a quiet hi as those bright pools of sapphire hold you in place. With that same intensity, Castiel stands and takes a step towards you; then it melts away, replaced by an awkward hitch as his eyes dip back down to the stuffed dragon in his hands. “I… uh… …here.” Cas’s movements are stilted as he closes the space between you, the dragon held out at arms length. “This was left here for you.” He’s being kind of adorable, like a small child handing over a toy he knows he shouldn’t have been playing with. You gently take the dragon with a quiet thanks, and you immediately notice the crimson ribbon wrapped around its neck and the black envelope fastened to it. Crowley left you a note. Your heart warms at the thought of what’s inside and you smile at the little stuffed toy, understanding immediately that it was Crowley who brought your stuff, not Cas.

“I…” Castiel’s words draw your attention up to him again and his eyes are fixed on you. “I’ll be going now.” The angel goes full tilt awkward, his shoulders slumping under some unknown burden and his eyes look so sad all of a sudden. You wonder why he’s like that; can he read every thought in your head like Crowley could? Even as you think that, you react instantly, knowing that any hesitation will mean you’ve missed your chance; you reach out to grab Castiel’s shoulder, and you tell him to wait. He looks up at you, those eyes looking deep into yours again, and you ask him why he came here. Cas looks down, drawing out the silence once again before answering. “You were coming home, so I wanted to make sure it was safe.” It’s amazing how much he cares for you, and you can’t help but feel a comforting tingle at the thought. You chuckle lightly, a smile spreading across your face when you tell him that was sweet, but there’s nothing to worry about. He just looks at you intently, silently running his eyes across your features while you stand there with your hand still firmly attached to his arm so he won’t fly away… you hope.

You could get lost in those eyes, but the moment is broken with a jolt, an unexpected knock at the door startling you. Geez you’re jumpy today, maybe it’s the empty ambience of this place, the feeling of it no longer truly being your home that’s got you on edge… or it could have been finding an angel sitting on your bed, in the dark, like a creeper; yeah, maybe that. Another set of knocks echo and Cas’s gaze slowly slides from you so that it can focus outside of your bedroom towards the front door. Who in the heck? Your gaze follows his for a moment, and then your eyes flit back to the angel and you tell him, almost beg him, please don’t leave. You head for the door, setting Mr. Cuddles down on your dresser as you walk out of the bedroom while another set of knocks sound out in rhythmic thuds, and you mumble to yourself for them to hold on to their butt for heaven’s sake.

You don’t check to see who it is, you’re in a hurry because apparently they’re in a hurry, and you swing the door wide open. You’re greeted by an enormous arrangement of flowers and the set of legs below it are at an odd angle, one foot holding all the weight while the other is pulled back to pound out another set of thuds against the door. The person realizes that the door is open and the foot he was holding aloft joins the other on the ground as he mumbles out your name with an apprehensive question mark, his voice almost lost amongst the greenery. You confirm your name with noticeable confusion, and the person, who definitely sounds, and from what you can see, looks like a man, appears to be immediately set at ease with that news; but it’s hard to tell with the jungle of flowers in the way. “This is a delivery from some dude named Crowley.” The guy grunts, shifting the heavy load. “Can I please set these down? They’re heavy.”

With an awkward hitch you move out of the way so he can bring them through the door. He heads for the nearest flat surface and with his back to you now, you finally get a look at the guy. He’s your stereotypical middle-aged random stranger with a uniform that matches the delivery truck you glimpse through the open door. Crowley brought you flowers? A grin spreads across your face; how sweet of your demon lover to do that, and you suddenly wonder how he’s feeling about this whole debacle of Cas whisking you away before the weekend was complete. The flowers, along with the delivery of your luggage and Mr. Cuddles, says that he definitely doesn’t want you to disappear forever and if you have any say in the matter, you will get to see him again. Lost in thought, you keep smiling as you watch the man gently set the arrangement down and he heaves a sigh of relief once the burden is gone; then he turns, reaching into the folds of his uniform. “Well miss, I’ll just need you to sign for these…”

As he turns, instead of a pen, the man slides a long wicked looking knife from his inside pocket. The guy’s face twists into a derisive sneer, the whites of his eyes melting into inky blackness as he raises the blade and advances. Holy shit! You’re stunned, the grin wiped from your face in an instant, but otherwise you’re unable to react, because your brain is not catching on quick enough to move your body away from the danger. Jesus! It’s the alley all over again; it’s Bigersons, it’s the warehouse! No! This can’t be happening! Adrenaline finally unglues your feet from where they’re frozen, but all you can do is stumble back against a wall with a startled cry. You are so unprepared for this! Is this even real? Without conscious thought, your hand grabs something; anything, and you throw it at the man who’s slowly advancing on you. A craven grin stretches across his face and you can’t help but think he’s enjoying this, enjoying the terror it causes when he moves slow and deliberate.

The demon blocks your projectile and when you find something else to throw, he bats that away too. Just as your hand finds something substantial, a lamp, your eyes go wide because Castiel appears out of thin air behind the snarling demon. Your reaction tips the man off and he immediately twists, hoping to stab whomever is behind him before they can get their footing. Cas is ready for it. The angel’s eyes blaze a surreal shining blue just before he catches the man’s arm as it swings the blade in his direction. Castiel’s face looks furious, his features pulled tight and those glowing eyes are locked on the demon with savage intensity; his demeanor broadcasting his complete disdain for such a filthy creature.

“What in the…” the demon looks totally shocked; like an angel is the last thing on the planet he expected to see. Cas moves quickly, snapping the bone in the man’s arm like a dry twig. The knife clatters to the floor and the angel’s free hand wraps around the demons neck so he can shove him against the wall with a growl. “Who sent you?” The demon lets out a startled oomph; then he settles, burying his shock and replacing it with a sneer. “Who sent me? How about, who sent you? This is Crowley’s little slut, not heaven’s.” Castiel’s nostrils flare and you swear his eyes glow brighter as he leans in close, squeezing the mans neck tighter, “Watch your tongue demon.” The demon grimaces in pain before dialing up his cocky bluster, “Heh. I see what’s going on…” Castiel’s eyes narrow while the demons voice gains new layers of sneering disrespect. “You’re protecting this little whore so you can have a dip in the ole honey pot too, aren’t ya.” The demon stops talking because Castiel’s expression turns fierce as he squeezes the demon’s neck hard enough that you can hear tendons popping under the pressure.

“Answer the question.” The demon’s face contorts, twisting between amusement and pain but he doesn’t answer, and you wonder if he’s even able to, considering Castiel’s assault on his windpipe. Your eyes are glued to the scene, watching with surreal detachment as it plays out in front of you, which is why you see it coming before Cas does. Your warning is too late as the man swings his unbroken arm in a wide ark, connecting his meaty fist with Castiel’s jaw. Taken by surprise, the angel loosens his grip and backs off, allowing the demon leverage so he can break free of the strangle hold. You want to help Cas, you want to stop the demon, but you can’t seem to move. The creature stumbles awkwardly to the side, gasping like a fish out of water, and you watch in horror as the demon snaps his head back without any preamble and an inky black mass of filth billows out of his mouth in violent roils that sail on an inhuman scream. What the fuck! You cower back, pressing back against the wall even as Castiel lunges forward, trying with no avail to stop the rippling swollen cloud from escaping into the nearby shadows. The body of the man, who used to be a demon, slumps to the ground while Castiel watches with icy hatred in his eyes as the black mass disappears out of reach.

The man starts to cough, groaning as he rakes in labored air through his mangled throat, and the sound breaks Castiel from his seething stupor, and you from your stunned state. The angel’s eyes immediately turn gentle as he squats down to face him, “I’m sorry… Joe?” Your eyes follow along with Cas to the nametag on the man’s shirt where the name is printed in bold block letters. “Please don’t move.” The man is barely registering Castiel’s presence, his eyes glazed with the pain of his assaulted throat and broken arm, but he appears to hold still at the command, subconsciously obeying without realizing it. You watch as Cas presses two fingers to Joe’s forehead. Nothing really seems to happen, but as the angel’s touch disappears from his skin, Joe’s eyes flutter shut and he slumps down heavily onto the floor. Wait? What just happened? Cas? Is he ok? What the…?

The angel stands without a word and he’s in your personal space within a heartbeat. You suck in a sharp breath as your eyes widen because Cas’s face is hard, fierce like it was when he was strangling the demon. “Hold on to me tightly.” It’s an irrefutable command, Castiel’s complete dominance of the situation evident as you obey immediately, without a single word of protest. Castiel’s arms wrap warmly around your sides, gentle compared to the concentrated look of a warrior that’s pulling his features tight and grinding the gravel in his voice down into a growling thunder. One hand presses against the small of your back and the other against the back of your head, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as yours encircle his neck with a tight squeeze. You want to ask what’s going on, to ask if Joe is ok, to ask what in the hell just happened; but the feel of Castiel’s warmth against you washes it all away, drowning out the world. It feels so good to be held by this delicately indelicate creature, and before you can think anything else, the air is sucked from your lungs, as you’re pulled into the blinding white.

 

<<< >>>

It’s a familiar kind of vertigo, every molecule pulled through the eye of a needle at the speed of light and then slammed back together again in an instant. You stand there gasping against Castiel’s neck, your limbs trembling and your vision swimming like it did before. “Are you ok?” His breath is ghosting against your ear, his question soft and gentle as you cling to him, a contrast to the sound of it a moment before. This is where you should answer him, where you should let go and step back, where you should be brave and strong and shrug it off like it’s nothing, but you don’t. Your fingers dig into the shoulder of Cas’s trench coat, while the other hand threads up into his hair to match the placement of his, and you hold on tighter while squeezing your eyes shut.

If you stay right here, just like this, then you’re ok, you’re safe, you’re fine. Adrenaline is still coursing through your body, your heart thumping wildly in your chest, and the angel’s embrace feels so good; so perfect. You are safe. The sudden realization floods you with relief and it’s a cloying high, leaving you languid in his embrace. He took you away from danger, in Castiel’s arms nothing can hurt you; you’re safe, you’re with an angel. You bury your face deeper into Castiel’s neck, inhaling the scent of him; he smells of warm sunlight and sugar and it’s divine, almost matching the resplendent feel of his warmth wrapped around you. The pent up energy from the adrenaline is aching to be redirected and the long line of firm heat known as Castiel begins to shift your focus down a more salacious path. Without permission your lips press against the smooth flesh just below Castiel’s ear, your mouth opening so your tongue can slide against him, because subconsciously you wanted to know if he tastes as good as he smells. Mmmm he does, like every wonderful sweet thing you’ve ever tasted is now layered into multifaceted depths of deliciousness within your mouth, and you moan quietly in appreciation.

Castiel stiffens like he did in the bunker, apprehension radiating from him; but you hold on tight, refusing to let him go so that he can run away for whatever stupid reasons he has. “What are you doing?” Cas’s words come out as a quiet breath while you cling to him, the gravel in his voice giving way to uncertainty, and dare you say… lust? Mmmm please let it be lust. Your lips move up, tucking under his jaw so that you can lick and taste again, and Cas’s head tilts, allowing you to proceed; you smile against his neck as your fingers thread deeper into his hair. You can feel the angel’s pulse as it thrums against your lips and you feel his heart beating quicker as it thumps in his chest against yours. He’s enjoying this. The angel likes to be kissed, and thank god, because this has been such a long time coming, and you very much like kissing this angel. Your lips slide along the firm line of his stubbled jawbone and another burst of sweet fills your mouth when your teeth gently graze his chin. Your eyes open so they can lock onto those intense sapphire orbs as a quiet sigh escapes Castiel’s lips. Good lord that sound alone is enough to quake your core with uncontrollable desire, and you move up, capturing his lower lip between yours with a gentle suckle.

Castiel’s eyes bore into you, his own desire boiling just beneath the surface, bottled up and with no real direction, like he has no idea how to satiate this growing need. “I don’t think…” You cut off his words, consuming them with your tongue as your head tilts so that your lips are firmly sealed together. Sweet Christmas! The feel of his mouth against yours is transcendent; Castiel allowing you entry as your lips slide against each other and you curl into him tighter when his tongue comes to life and glides gently along yours. Castiel must like the feel of it too, because his grip on you tightens, his arm pulling you in closer and his hand pushes you into him deeper where it’s tangled in your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp as he begins to kiss you back with gentle hunger. The world drops away, not that it was in focus to begin with, and you lose yourself in the sensations of Castiel’s tongue dipping into your mouth as he groans. His hand slides down your back and cups your ass, pulling you in even tighter with the leverage it gives him, and you purr with enjoyment. Mmmm the angel isn’t completely ignorant of such things after all, and you break the kiss with a sigh as he squeezes your ass again, kneading your flesh with apparent appreciation.

As your lips slide along his cheek it dawns on you that you have no frickin clue where you are; you could be making out with Castiel in the middle of Times Square for all you know and that thought suddenly stiffens your entire body, making you go rigid in his embrace. The world stopped tilting and swirling a while ago, but you never looked anywhere but at the angel; now you do, your eyes flitting from left to right, taking in the surroundings of what’s behind him. You’re in a cabin. An old couch with aged floral print, walls of slatted wood, rough-hewn and rugged looking, windows filled with the browns and greens of foliage, and the feeling that there’s no one around for miles. “What?” Castiel’s hand loses confidence, lightening up to a mere touch in response to your distracted state. You realize that Cas ceased to exist for a moment while you soaked up your surroundings, and it makes him pull away, his body no longer touching yours. “Did I…” His eyes capture your attention, “Did I do it wrong?” Those blue pools are so concerned and uncertain. “Should I…” He hesitates, almost like he doesn’t want to finish the sentence, “Stop?”

Oh Castiel, you sweet sweet angel, that’s not it at all. You smile, and your hands slide around to his front so that they lay flat against his warm chest; you tell him in a gentle voice that you don’t ever want him to stop. You feel shy as you say it, looking up at him through your lashes while your fingers begin unbuttoning his shirt. The angel remains still as he stares down at you, his expression unreadable. Your fingers work while his eyes explore you for a moment and then his voice comes out quiet and husky, “That’s not possible, because you’re human,” You hesitate, not sure if that’s a rejection or not. “Humans have the need to eat,” Your eyes go wide when Cas leans in, pressing his lips against yours in emphasis of that statement. You open for him, your body quivering as his tongue dips into you with a growing confidence. Sweet lord you want to devour him, but before you’re ready for it to end, he breaks away; his forehead pressing against yours as he continues, “And humans have the need to sleep,” Instinctively you close your eyes as he leans in again and when his lips press gently against one eyelid, and then the other, your body turns to jelly as you gasp out his name in quiet reverence. “So… I will have to stop sometime.” Shut up Castiel, just shush. Your hands grab his head and you pull him into a hungry kiss, no tenderness in this one, just unbridled hunger for this celestial creature in front of you.

He reciprocates by pulling you in tight, his hand back to firmly gripping your ass, grinding you against him with renewed purpose while the other rests gently on your cheek. You let Cas claim you, your lips eager for the taste of him and your body aching to feel more of him; but it’s not enough. You shift so Castiel’s hold loosens, and you guide his arms down to his sides so that you can tug on the angel’s trench coat, pulling it off of him as he moans with appreciation into your mouth. Your knees go weak at the sound and you break from his lips, breathing deep as you steady your wobbling knees, taking that moment to see what’s behind you. Is that a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace? Typical. You lose focus again quickly, because Cas’s mouth is sliding warm and wet along your neck and it takes all of your concentration to pull it together enough to toss his coat down on the rug as a blanket.

Cas tucks back in against you, his body grinding against yours as he suckles the tender flesh of your neck. Your lids flutter shut as he clutches you tight. This particular position makes you glaringly aware of his aching erection; it’s straining against his dress pants with eager need as it presses against your thigh, and that’s when you instantly become absolutely certain that you need to fuck this Angel of the Lord right here and right now, in this unknown place. You pull away, leaving Castiel breathless and confused, forcing him to stop so you can somehow achieve this somewhat lofty goal. Without those magnificent lips caressing your body and mouth, you’re able to quickly unbutton his shirt while he settles into a quiet statue that watches and waits. Jesus he looks so beautiful, those blue oceans following your every move, his features etched with studious concentration. When every last button is undone, you bite your lip and lock eyes with him while grabbing his tie and pulling it free in one fluid motion. The angel continues to watch you without a single word, his eyes soaking up every little action, and you mindlessly let the fabric flutter to the ground as your gaze takes in the sight of Castiel’s bare chest through the opening in his shirt.

You pull the white button down free from his pants, exposing even more skin, and then your hands explore, gently caressing each crevice and curve of his muscled torso as his shirt hangs haphazardly from his shoulders. He’s not ripped like Sam, not hard muscle under a gentle cushion like Dean; he’s lithe, perfectly defined and your eyes follow the line of his sternum down to his belly button, finally coming to rest on his belt. You suck in a sharp breath, imagining what lies beneath, and you ache with uncontrollable hunger. “You like what you see?” It’s not a cocky question, but one of recognition as Cas watches your eyes take in the sight of him. Your gaze slides up his body until they’re locked onto those blue irises, and you tell him yes, yes you do; then you grab him by the belt and pull him around, spinning you both until you’ve traded places. He’s right where you want him, and the angel obeys the silent commands of your hands as they press him down so that’s he’s sitting on the floor. His ass becomes firmly planted on his trench coat; and he gazes up at you in silence, those puppy dog eyes wrinkling his forehead into a look of confused innocence. You’ve never seen anything sexier.

 

You smile, shucking your own shirt off in a quick motion before you’re down on Cas’s lap, straddling the confused puppy. You’re gentle as you lick into Castiel’s mouth, your hands holding his head, while his come to rest on your sides. He’s completely pliant, and he feels eager to please as he kisses you back, but he still seems to lack direction, knowledge. Mmmmm it could be so fun to teach him, to train an angel in the art of carnal pleasure, and that single promising thought propels you forward, forcing Cas all the way down to the floor. Your kisses become urgent, needy, and you break away from his delicious mouth so that you can run your lips down his neck and shoulder. Scooting down, your mouth nips along Castiel’s chest, little bursts of sweet filling your mouth as you go, and his head tilts back, gravely whimpers punctuating each play of your tongue.

You let out a moan of your own as your tongue swirls around his bellybutton and one hand works at unbuckling and unzipping his pants. You want all of him so bad; you’ve wanted it for longer than you care to admit, and the only thing in your way is this damn zipper. You sigh, pressing your forehead against his belly because you can’t do it; you are way to fucking distracted for that level of one-handed skill right now. You force yourself to sit up, your ass resting on Castiel’s shins so you can conquer this obstacle. His head comes off the floor and he watches intently while you undo his belt, and pull it free from his pants, so that it can thud softly on the edge of the rug that’s not currently covered in angel or trench coat. Cas’s confusion is gone, but his lust-glazed eyes are laced with apprehension, like he isn’t exactly sure what you have in mind. You just smile as you deftly unbutton and unzip his dress pants, your eye firmly on the prize.

You don’t have to search amongst the fabric, because Castiel’s eager cock practically leaps out of his boxers and through the zippered opening; you suck in a sharp breath, appreciating the delicious sight of a very aroused angel. Hmmm does Cas’s cock taste as good as the rest of him? Subconsciously you lick your lips. You notice the angels’ wide eyes, and you realize what you just did, which makes you smirk, a lecherous gleam sparkling in your eyes as you lean down and curl your tongue around the tip of Castiel’s shaft. You’re treated to a burst of sugar as the angel’s head lulls back, resting on the trench-coated rug once more, and a deep moan of appreciation that resembles your name, rumbles in his chest. Christ! Its like this man’s… no, this angel’s moans are penetrating you, vibrating your aching core with the mere sound of his carnal expression, and you wonder if he’ll make you climax just by hearing the pleasure you cause.

With a wicked smile you run the flat of your tongue down the length of his straining member and when the warm wet of your mouth engulfs him, another coarse groan rumbles from deep in his chest and it rolls along your skin in shivering waves straight to your sex. Holy…! Your lips slide down and back up in a slow deliberate motion and you can’t help but keep your eyes glued to the underside of Castiel’s jaw as you watch it clench and tremble. “That…” The baritone gravel in his voice is amplified, thick with pleasure as he groans again when your lips slide back down so that he’s deep inside your mouth. “Feels very…” You begin to suck, the sweetness amplified as your mouth undulates along every inch of him. “Goooooodddd.” That word comes out as a grunting sigh and his hand comes up to tuck in your hair as you continue to slide him in and out. You don’t want this over to quickly, so you glide your lips up and off of his cock, and Cas relaxes instantly, his chest huffing as he licks his lips and tilts his head to gaze at you once more.

With a quiet giggle, you hop up and begin unzipping your pants as you tell him it’s about to get better. Castiel’s eyes widen again, and he watches as you shimmy out of your jeans. You try to be graceful, but you’re pretty sure Cas isn’t judging you on finesse right now, and you’re back on top of him as soon as your jeans and underwear are in a heap near his belt. You’re still wearing your bra but you honestly don’t care, not wanting to take the time to remove it when you swoop in, your tongue dipping between those thick lips of his. It feels way to goddamned good as your naked sex rubs against Castiel’s bare cock, and you shiver when he groans again. “You’re right…” His words come out as quiet rumbles while you lick and nibble his jaw line, “This is better.” You smirk against his skin as your lips slide to his ear and you whisper, oh just wait, while your hand blindly finds his shaft so you can line him up. Mmmm it feels really good in your hand, but its about to feel a thousand times better.

“What are you…?” The angel doesn’t finish the question because he moans heavily as you slowly lower yourself down onto him. Jesus Christ! Castiel’s throbbing cock penetrates deep and satisfying and you’ve never felt it’s equal as the world goes white and gauzy. There’s always that moment needed to adjust, to appreciate, to revel; but this, this is something you’ve never felt before as Cas’s hands firmly grip your ass, keeping you pressed against him so that he’s still buried deep inside. The thread between you has been a trickling stream, teasing little bits of emotion across it’s surface, but now it bursts open like a rushing river, filling you with a warm light that caresses every molecule. The feeling is beyond imagining, your mind barely able to register all the layers of pleasure that course throughout your being.

You sense yourself falling forward, Cas’s face gaining in proximity; but you catch yourself, gasping against his chin as you feel him pulsing inside you. Holy… Nnnnngh, the feel of his cock shifting within your depths rakes shivers of pleasure through every fiber of your body. Without thinking about it (thought isn’t possible right now) you move again so that he slides back in deep, and splendid fireworks erupt across every nerve. Castiel moans, lusty and guttural, and before you can even move him in and out again you’re gone. The climax that rolls through your body is powerful, shuddering deep within as you convulse in stuttering spurts, trying to keep the motion going. Every rock of your hips against his washes your body in quivering bliss, and you breath out his name as your face burrows into his neck, your body coasting on sheer instinct as you continue to lift and drop yourself onto him.

Cas’s hands slide up to your hips, and his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “Please hold still.” You stop moving, your breath coming in hot pants against his shoulder while your body obeys without hesitation. Sweet lord this feels way to good; your orgasm is still undulating through every nerve, and you’re not sure how much more you can take. Without preamble the angel tightly grips your hips, thrusting his pelvis upward and piercing you deep; you cry out loudly against his neck as your whole body stiffens in ecstasy. Castiel’s body relaxes and then clenches so he can thrust upward again, his cock dragging blissfully heavy inside you once more. Holy Fuck your brain is melting; it feels good in ways it shouldn’t, astonishing ecstasy layering on top of staggering euphoria as Cas picks up speed, his hands holding you prisoner while he shoves into you again and again.

Panting, your lips drag up his neck and along his rough cheek until they find those smooth lips again, and you kiss him hard, Castiel reverently mumbling your name between licks of your tongue. The wash of warmth over the thread drowns your mind, and the way-to-good feel of Cas pulsing deep between your quaking thighs only pulls you under further, stealing your air even as you steal the angel’s. “I should…” You break his sentence with your tongue as it dances with his, and he moans heavily into your mouth, the gravely sound only adding to your desperate state of overstimulation. His hips continue to tilt up into yours but he breaks the kiss, panting against your cheek as he tries again, “I should stop.” What? No. No, no, no.

You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t do anything but bask in the resplendent decadence of this celestial beast that continues to pierce you with aching urgency; all you know is that you DO NOT want it to stop. Pure unadulterated desire kicks in and your hips begin to move in time with his; your downward drops meet his upward thrusts, and you both cry out in shameless pleasure at the feel of it. You do it again and again as your elbows dig into the trench coat on either side of him and your fingers tangle into his hair as you tell him, beg him, not to stop. Your whispered words make Castiel groan, his body stiffening as your rhythms continue to match, and he shows no sign of stopping as you both shove him deep inside you with desperate hungry need.

He’s on the edge, you can feel it, and you want him to go over; you want to witness the angel as he falls into the abyss of carnal ecstasy while dragging you with him on a wave of mindless bliss. So close, oh god, he’s so close. Castiel’s whole body goes rigid as he sucks in a sharp breath of fear… fear? His hands suddenly come off your hips so that one is on your back and the other tucks your head deep into his neck with urgency. “Close your eyes.” There’s no moment between that and the high-pitched ringing that builds from nothing to an overwhelming fierce power that drowns out everything in existence while Castiel arches his back, his cock releasing hot and forceful deep inside you.

You’re face is buried firmly against Cas’s neck and shoulder, but that flesh really isn’t his, it’s merely a shell, a vessel. The angel’s true presence unfurls in a blaze of brilliance, your eyelids glowing white as they try and keep the radiance of this unearthly creature at bay. Castiel consumes you, his unbridled visage devouring every molecule in a delicious rapture of carnal release and you revel in it. You quake in his embrace, his power shivering through you in waves, and it’s so much more than you ever thought possible; like there’s two Castiel’s, one corporeal, one not, and they’re both straining with blissful release. You hear your voice crying out the angel’s name in pleasured reverence, and it sounds lost amidst Castiel’s groaning gravel and the shrill ringing that’s blocking out the world with it’s intensity.

The world is gone, nothing but brilliant white warmth surrounds you, and there is nothing left to cling to except the angel; whatever part of you exists holds on to him with desperate need as you’re washed in Castiel’s resplendent paradise again and again. You no longer know where you end and Castiel begins, and long before you ever want it to end the white begins to shrink away to a coming darkness. It’s too much; no mere human can withstand the pure raw power of something so unearthly, so beautiful, and so magnificently angelic. The universe closes in around you, a sudden smothering dark that’s devoid of anything as it suffocates everything. Castiel disappears, it all disappears; replaced by the deafening silence of unconsciousness and the last thought that flows through your mind is, how do you get back to where you just were… how do you get back to heaven?


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

I finally have a beta! LaFemmeGeekita  
Woot! She's been a huge help and gives me a boatload of encouragement,  
but I'm still gonna claim all errors as my own.

Author's Note:  
I suppose I better tag this one as angsty and I'm sorry it's taken so long to post.  
Between attending SPN-DCCon and life and junk and things, it's been murder on my free time.  
But here it is and hopefully I won't make you wait to long for more.  
 

TWISTED PATHS PART TWO

EVERY TIME A BELL RINGS

CHAPTER FOUR

<<< >>>

 

Nnnngh. Your head hurts so frickin’ bad. Where are you and why in the heck does it feel like your brain is going to explode? Your vision swims when your eyes open, and it takes a moment for everything to come into focus. In front of you, a bearskin rug is splayed out flat and fluffy across a well-worn wooden floor and a comforting fire crackles in a well-kept fireplace just beyond that. A long groan sounds out as you slowly sit up, your eyes squeezing shut at the new layer of pain in your head because of it. Frickin’ ouch! Your legs drop to the floor and that’s when it becomes apparent that you’re not wearing pants beneath the blanket that’s sliding off you into a pile on the couch.

What… where? Oh yeah, that’s right, a cabin… you’re in a cabin. Cas brought you here, and that’s when… heh, oh. Your grimace turns to a weak smile, despite the pain, because you remember what you did with Castiel and a pleasant warmth starts to burn in the pit of your belly. You rub your temples while looking around, where is that angel anyways? The place looks and feels empty, which should be creepy considering the number of horror movies you’ve seen involving cabins, but its not. Strangely enough it reminds you of the bunker in a sort of familiar way, and you can’t help but wonder who owns this place. Your hands run along the well-worn cushions of the couch and for such an old thing, it’s kinda comfy. Well, comfy to sit on, not necessarily to sleep on.

You’re pretty sore from lying in one place for however long you’ve been knocked out and you take a moment to stretch the kinks from your upper torso. After slumping back down into a slack state, you look down at the bearskin rug and your toes bunch up into excited little knots at the memory of Castiel stretched out across his coat, looking so wrecked and sexy. You replay the memory of what happened and… Jesus that was… it was… heh, it was pretty fucking amazing is what that was. You rest your head in your hands, rubbing your eyes as a shiver of remembered pleasure crawls wonderfully across your skin. Man! Any thought involving Castiel only adds to that glow deep in your belly and suddenly all you can think about is how to get back into the pants belonging to that surprisingly delicious angel. You sigh. You think you’d be used to this by now, used to the unbridled lust that takes over and leaves you helpless and unwilling to fight the urges it causes. Nope. Still not used to it, and you’re especially still adjusting to craving this awkward angel who also happens to be one badass guardian.

Yearning for the touch of sexy-as-fuck Dean, quietly dominant Sam, and even the smoldering power of Crowley is understandable, acceptable in it’s own way, maybe even expected; but Castiel is an angel. Are you allowed to want an angel? The memory of Joe, the flower-toting demon, comes to mind and you can taste the remembered terror in the back of your throat, but you also remember Castiel and his protective violence. He was both terrible and beautiful, just like he was so long ago in the warehouse when you witnessed him, and the Winchesters, devastating the ranks of demons that surrounded you. The demons didn’t fight back then, stupidly sacrificing themselves to the spell that would raise Lucifer; but even so, you can’t help but think they didn’t stand a chance even if they did try and fight back. Cas’s burning blue eyes, that scorching white hot power, the angry and brazen set of his jaw as he endeavored to protect you from those devils; these are things you should have appreciated more while you were in the moment. You’re certainly appreciating them now, too much maybe. Was it ok to fuck an angel? Cas… your mind wanders, appreciating recent memories of him like the smooth lines of his chest against your fingertips, the sweet taste of candied skin, and every single one of those magnificently provocative moans from him.

Are you going to Hell now? You smirk, running your hands down your face at the unbelievable notion that you know a guy down there who’d be very happy to see you. Heh, maybe it’s worth the damnation to experience a little bit of heaven. You scrub the lopsided grin from your face because this is not a good train of thought; this isn’t helping at all. You need to shift your focus. Pants, pants sound like a great idea. You lift your head, which is still aching terribly, and as you look around, your eyes come to rest on a pile of clothes. The only thing covering your body at the moment is your bra and the throw that’s still partially pooled in your lap, so you’re glad to see them within easy reach where they’re neatly folded on the little table by the couch. Your underwear is tucked between your shirt and pants, almost like it wasn’t proper to have your unmentionables in view. You chuckle, imagining the warrior angel standing there awkwardly deciding what to do with your lacy panties. That same lopsided grin spreads across your face again as you chuckle; but laughing only makes your head hurt worse, it’s still totally worth it.

Your insides are all clenched up because you’re missing Cas’s presence more than you care to admit right now; the yearning for this particular angel has been slowly building, and it’s currently a hot fire deep inside and one hell of a distraction as you get down to the business of getting dressed. Your shirt goes on easy enough, then you pull your pants and underwear halfway up before standing to yank them the rest of the way into place. You almost sit back down because your whole body feels like jelly. Despite that, you manage to stay upright, although you don’t feel the least bit steady. Just as you’re finished with the button on your jeans, the whoosh of invisible wings disturbing the silent air makes you quickly look up and turn. Woah, bad idea. Really bad idea. The world tilts and you stagger before flopping heavily back down on the couch with a groan. Damn! It hurts, and the pitch of the earth is building up a nausea that’s threatening to put out the fire of lust that’s still coiled deep in your core.

Castiel invades your space in the span of a heartbeat, and your pulse skyrockets, adding to the churning mixture of both pleasure and pain. You watch his knees hit the floor as his body tucks between your legs and a hot blush blazes on your skin as his hand suddenly cups your cheek. His face is now so very very close to yours and a look of complete concern is etched across his features. You suck in a sharp breath because you aren’t ready for this level of proximity with no warning, and you stiffen while his gaze seems to catalog every part of you. “Please be still.” You’ve heard him say that before, and just like Joe the flower guy, you obey without question as your blush deepens.

“How are you feeling?” Your eyes finally meet his, now that the world has ceased to whirl about, and the concern that’s furrowing the angel’s brow is almost heartbreaking; and those eyes, good god those eyes. Trying to break the tension, you smile weakly, lying when you tell him you’re just a bit dizzy with the headache you’ve got going on. “You’re sure that’s all?” Cas’s gaze flits across every inch of your body, almost like he has x-ray vision, and you watch quietly while he assesses you with intense scrutiny. He knows your lying and you’re suddenly a bit self conscious as he takes inventory of everything in front of him, but when those deep blue orbs find their way back up to your face, you’re instantly lost in their depths.

Self-conscious or not you want him so much; so your hand comes up to mirror his, your fingers ghosting across his stubbled cheek. You want to kiss those supple lips so badly. You stare at them, so large and soft and inviting, and you’re startled when they part so that Cas can quietly tell you, “I’m going to heal you now.” The urge to taste him increases ten-fold, but you hold back because his jaw clenches in determination, like he just suggested jumping into a pit full of vipers, or something else equally dangerous. “This may hurt.” What? It never hurt when he healed you before, so why now? You would ask him that out loud, but you’re to busy reveling in the feel of his hands cupping your cheeks and his fingers slipping gently into your hair at the base of your neck.

The angel has healed you before; each time feeling the same, yet different in it’s own right, and you tilt your head back into his cradling hands while your arms fall down slack and relaxed by your sides on the couch. Warmth spreads from the angel’s hands where they’re pressed against your skin. The pain in your head and swimming nausea disappear even before you finish the heavy gasping moan that shamelessly escapes from you in response to the intense wave of pleasure that’s crawling through you. Jesus Christ! Your core instantly ignites, the burning desire that’s been building since you’ve been conscious finally blazing to life from the concentrated aura of Castiel’s all consuming presence.

The sensual feel of him spreading deep inside you takes over everything. It’s like Cas is outside of you, inside you, on you, in you, around you, buried deep, yet ghosting across every nerve. Holy shit it feels so fucking good! The sensation that every inch of the angel is stroking gently along every inch of you is pure bliss, and as his healing power licks at every molecule, you moan out his name when an overpowering orgasm washes through your body with violent zeal. Your head lulls back further, your wet and aching sex craving the piercing heat of Castiel. He’s still right there; his fingers nestled in your hair, his hands still gently cradling your head, and your legs tighten around the kneeling form of the angel because you want him closer.

Your own fingers slide up along his and your back arches, causing your breasts to thrust forward while your legs pull Cas in even tighter. Your head curls back further as another shameless moan vibrates through you, the pleasure of his power continuing to pulse through your body in ebbing waves. You hear your name whispered on concerned lips as a question, as a need for affirmation while the blissful light inside of you begins to fade, your climax waning with it. You suck in a deep breath as your body quickly comes down from it’s euphoric high and Cas is right in front of you, his hands still tucked in your hair, his body laying against yours because your legs are still wrapped tightly around him.

There is a stiffened mixture of surprise, and something unnamable, noticeably pulling his lips into a thin line; but your still riding the feel of his power and all you can think is… mmmm those lips. You shiver with delight as you curl forward, your hands grabbing his head so you can press your mouth heavily against those deliciously supple morsels. Sweet mercy he tastes so fucking good, and you gasp against his lips as your core quakes with appreciative lust. Cas doesn’t fight you. His mouth is pliable and responsive, yet he doesn’t exactly kiss you back, his hesitation evident as his hands slide down along your shoulders where they gently come to rest on your arms. Why? Cas’s apprehension breaks the moment, pulling you back from the desperate haze of need that’s been clouding everything. Your desire wanes into a dull aching warmth while your eyes explore his features, trying to discern why he’s hesitant. What’s wrong Castiel? And… what just happened? Your mind is sharper now, the haze of pleasurable bliss no longer clouding your perception and you suddenly realize what you’re doing.

As you stare into his eyes, your own apprehension palpable, your hands pull away from him, your legs unwrapping and sliding down until they’re once again resting on the floor. Did he? Did Cas just make you climax by healing you? “I’m sorry.” Castiel’s voice is thicker than normal, and you can see the conflict in his eyes as his hands come off you so he can use the couch to balance while he pushes himself up to a standing position. His erection is prominent as it presses against his pants and the desire smoldering behind Cas’s lovely irises is captivating as he towers over you, staring down into your eyes with confusion battling for dominance across his otherwise lust-stricken features. Why is he sorry? Why did that feel like sex? Did he like that or did you overstep your boundaries? So many questions.

“I…” The angel appears to accept total defeat, his brow furrowing as his shoulders slump in supplication, his imposing form turning slack and unsure. “I was not sure what would happen when I healed you.” Cas takes a step back, his knees in line with yours now. “That was… surprising.” You blush, hanging your head a bit while you tell him no kidding; embarrassment creeping up unwanted but completely warranted. “I’m glad you’re ok.” You muster up the nerve to look back up at him and ask what he thought would happen. Castiel’s hands curl into tight fists at his sides, his erection noticeably waning as his eyes dip down to your knees. Almost a whisper, you have to strain to hear the angel when he admits, “It could have killed you.” He’s so sure of that proclamation, so confidant that it was a possibility, that you just sit there stunned, because WHAT? Cas looks pitifully guilty while he stands there staring at the floor while his fingers unfurl and then clench back into tighter fists.

Your own lust has taken a definite backseat, and you just stare at him, because he’s not making any sense; so you ask how healing you could kill you? “What we… “ The angel looks up at you, unfamiliar emotions playing across those sapphire orbs as he tries to find the right words. “What I did… You could have been hurt… or worse. I should have stopped.” Wait… is he talking about just now? No he’s not. Your eyes grow wide because he’s talking about having sex; that mind blowing event before you apparently passed out from the overwhelming powerful essence that is Castiel. You remember it perfectly, every detail seared into your mind, but you truly aren’t sure of exactly what happened when he told you to close your eyes. You distinctly remember the feel of it, the feel of two completely different Castiel’s, different yet together and the same; and you remember the euphoria that came with it. You’ve never felt anything like that before in your life; hell, even the blissful high you were floating along on in the warehouse pales in comparison to what that was. It was… heaven. Pure heaven, or at least what you think heaven ought to feel like because Christ on a cracker, there are no words for that, none whatsoever. But what does that have to do with healing you?

“After…” He’s searching for the right word; it’s painfully obvious, “After we made love. I wasn’t sure how my powers would affect you.” You keep looking up at the angel and you grab one of his clenched fists, wrapping your hands around his rigid digits as you ask him how that makes any difference when it comes to being healed. “I’m not sure. It’s just… I’ve…” Cas slumps further, his whole body dejected and ashamed, “Humans should not see my true form. I thought I had learned my lesson, but apparently I have not. I had no idea what would happen.” He’s berating himself, internally beating himself up over something that apparently could have been a catastrophe but wasn’t. You wish he wouldn’t do that; it hurts to see him like that. You hurt when he hurts. You remember him using that phrase on you so long ago when both of you were ensnared by dark magic; you sincerely hope he was telling the truth because it meant, and still does, mean so much to you. You just wish he knew how much it pains you to see him like this, and how much you wish there was something you could do or say to make things better. You know those thoughts are flowing across the connection to him, and tendrils of warmth begin to snake up your arm as the angel softens, his fist loosing it’s intense press and his face fluttering with a hint of gratitude.

Castiel slowly uncurls his fist so his fingers can skate across your palm and there is a whisper of awe in his gravely voice when he says, “Seeing me… being with me like that, it should have killed you.” Cas is still between your legs and he sinks back down to his knees, his hand opening up more so that his fingers can tangle with yours, and his eyes never leave yours. “I hurt when you hurt… and if I were the cause of your… of that…” His voice trails off as you suck in a sharp breath, your eyes wide and staring as Castiel gazes at your hand. His thumb is running gentle strokes across your skin and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve hurt you enough.” Oh Castiel. You curl forward, your hand coming up to cover his, and your voice shakes a little when you tell him that it didn’t hurt, it could never hurt. In fact, you find yourself telling him it was the most profound and beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced and you hope you get to experience it again. Then you blush, pressing back into the sofa because it almost seemed wrong to say that out loud.

Cas tilts his head so those deep blue depths lock onto you and again his voice is laced with awe, his tone low and deep when he says, “I have never encountered someone like you before.” You’re both flattered and terrified by that statement and it sounds eerily similar to something Crowley told you not so along ago. You don’t respond; you merely stare at him, uncertainty twisting your features. “I have existed for longer than your mind can fathom, so what I’m telling you is profound.” Why? Why are you so strange? ‘Never’ seen anything like you before? What does that mean? Castiel’s true form could have killed you, but it didn’t; so how is it that you survived something like that? What makes you so damn special? What in the hell is it that’s throwing everything and everyone into crazy land? Castiel presses your hand between both of his, a long breath sounding long and worried while his gaze shifts to your tangled fingers. Why? Why you? Why now? Why anything?

The connection between you is sharing silent information, every single scattered, fleeting emotion and reaction tumbling down along the ethereal bond and into the angel. He doesn’t reciprocate, this particular arrangement seeming to always be one sided, and Castiel remains an enigma while you just sit there in shock. In answer to your silent questions, Cas looks back up at you with emotion thickening the gravel in his voice. “You are the product of an incredibly powerful spell, one that should have never been created, much less performed.” You see sorrow in his eyes, almost like he’s mourning the loss of something precious. “You are no longer what you once were.” Your eyes widen into shocked saucers because you weren’t expecting that. Cas takes note of your expression before his gaze falls back down towards the floor again. You’re no longer what you once were?

What does that mean? Castiel? What does that mean? It’s barely a whisper as you finally voice the question out loud, and the broken look of the angel as he tilts his head back up towards you is layered with a sullen agony. “I cannot tell you because I do not know. All I can say is that you are no longer merely human.” Your body goes slack, your torso slithering backward until it comes to rest against the back of the couch while you just stare blankly in the angel’s direction. Not human… no… not ‘MERELY human’, and Castiel is sorry. He always feels the need to carry the blame; even when there is no way it’s his fault. Not merely human? So you’re more than human? What are you? You’re something new, never before seen. Are you a monster?

Your gaze finally comes back into focus and it settles on Castiel who’s still kneeling between your legs. You watch, detached, as he comes off the floor so he can sit next to you on the couch. His leg presses a long line of heat against yours as he leans back, mimicking your position. Cas’s hand slowly slides out of yours and his fingers run gentle strokes along your upturned palm before they lace back together with yours again. Lovely tingles erupt across your body, stirring your core into a pleasurable heat, but it’s muted by the conversation and the possibility that you’ve been turned into a monster; a monster that Castiel may not want. Not merely human means there is more to you, and not necessarily desirable. What else are you?

Made more than human because of a spell that should have never been made or cast. Does that mean you’re still considered the Gatekeeper? Wasn’t that just the role you were forced to play in the spell? You know exactly what went into the spell that changed everything; the bloody essence of a demon and the grace of an angel, a cupid to be precise, but does that mean those components are now part of you? Is it a bad thing? Castiel squeezes your hand, almost in confirmation… but confirmation of which part? You squeeze his hand in return as you heave a heavy sigh. In its own strange way, it makes perfect sense that they are a part of you. You already know it’s the Cupid’s Grace that created connections between you and these four amazing and diverse men; but you never thought it would be more than that.

What are you? You’ve been slowly learning to harness the connections, and the way you were able to withstand Castiel’s unbridled presence, would that be the angelic grace? Then there’s Crowley’s power; the way you took control of it and stood toe to toe with the King of hell… is that the power of the demon’s essence? Are you a monster? You squeeze your eyes shut and press your head back against the couch because you don’t know, and you’re not sure you want to.

Your head rolls to the side, your eyes cracking open to take in the sight of the real angel who’s holding your hand, and his head tilts to mimic yours, both of your eyes locking instantly. The shivering tingles that go along with touching any of the four on your most wanted list are in full force, your leg humming pleasantly with Cas’s warmth and a gentle crawl making it’s way up your arm from where his fingers are still entwined with yours. If you’re a monster, does this angel still want you? You see Castiel’s face twitch ever so slightly, a flit of discomfort ghosting across his features just before he shifts in his seat. Your eyes follow the line of his body down to his crotch and you can’t help but note the bulge straining against the fabric. Does he really, or is that just a reaction to this goddamned spell that’s “ensnared” him?

It’s suddenly too much. God you still want this creature so fucking bad it hurts, it’s been aching in the background of this entire bizarre and horrible conversation, but… you just… no. If you are a monster, how could you possibly… Castiel is an angel… pure and good. No. You can’t tarnish that with this new horror that is your own flesh and blood. You aren’t good enough. Not only are you a monster, but the fucking King of Hell has laid claim to you! Stained by that magnificent beast because you wanted it, you craved it, you asked for it. You stand up suddenly, your fingers easily sliding out of his as you pull away to stand several paces from the couch, your eyes brimming with tears. Castiel’s eyes dip in what you can only interpret as shame, and you stand there broken. The part of you that wants to disappear into the white heat of Castiel’s pleasure suddenly feels dirty and selfish. Why did you ever think it was ok to “make love” to an angel?

Cas has just been sitting there staring at his hands as they rest in his lap, but his head suddenly snaps up in time with that last thought. You’re dangerously close to crying right now and you don’t need a frickin’ angel of the lord pitying this lowly weepy creature, so with every ounce of control, you stiffly tell him that you need a shower. Before Cas can even think about responding to that, you stride with purpose to the bathroom door and only when it’s firmly shut behind you and the water running noisily in the tub do you curl up against the wall and cry.


End file.
